


Like a Kick to the Heart

by dizzydreamer16



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Blood, Depression/Anxiety, Graphic descriptions of violence, High School AU, Lots of Angst, M/M, Modern AU, Nightmares/Night Terrors, Parental Abuse, Physical Abuse, Self Harm, everyone ends up happy i swear, panic/anxiety attacks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-09-25 18:35:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 33,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9838286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzydreamer16/pseuds/dizzydreamer16
Summary: Jean has nightmares. No matter how hard he tries to forget his past, the memories won't seem to leave him. With his anxiety and depression at their peak, his friends convince him to go to a party at Ymir's. Trost High has won the rivalry game for the first time in decades, after all. It's a huge deal. At this party, something happens that will change his world forever. It's a wild, messy ride, but he wouldn't have it any other way.





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first published fic, and I would just like to say that I'm excited to see where this journey takes me. I hope you guys enjoy reading the story as much as I enjoy writing it! It's sort of an emotional rollercoaster, but what fic isn't? Without further delay, I give you my pride and joy, Like a Kick to the Heart.

prologue

I could tell you that it was earth-shattering. I could tell you that it was groundbreaking. I could tell you that the cataclysmic quakes ‘changed everything.’ But that would be a lie, and that’s not what I’m about. My life wasn’t flipped upside down, and the planet wasn’t turned up onto its head. The world kept spinning, and I kept moving. Rather, I kept not moving. My suffering remained stagnant, and nothing changed. My dad wasn’t different, my friends weren’t different, and I was most certainly not different. It wasn’t immediately brighter, and it wasn’t immediately better. It wasn’t immediately anything.  
  
The mindless wandering of life droned on. It was going to keep going on that way forever, with or without me. The world did not care that I was hurting, the world did not care if I was lost. I was too small to fend for myself in this big, big world of ours. This planet that we humans call home is ruthless because it does not care about our tiny problems. It cares about being a happy stupid beautiful rock floating along in the vastness of space. It does not care about one puny little human that is scared because it could not possibly know about the tiny human; it is too big, too busy, to realize. Even when the human goes on a journey, the Earth has no clue. It just keeps spinning and spinning and spinning, regardless of any humans moving or changing or struggling.  
  
So that’s why when I was struggling, and had been for a long time, the world didn’t treat me any differently, not even when he came around. Not at first, anyway. When we met, it was nothing special. No sparks, no fireworks, no nothing. The relationship wasn’t intoxicating or breathtaking because it simply did not exist. We were scared and we were broken, but the Earth didn’t care. It kept on spinning, like always. We may have been lost, but when we met, we discovered something. We found something we’d both been missing for a long time. We found ourselves.  
  
Through our misgivings, we found our truth. Not to say that it was amazing or pretty or wondrous, because it most certainly wasn’t. It was ugly. It was messy. It was terrible, excruciating even. God, it was amazing, don’t get me wrong, but it was also agonizing.  
  
Without having felt pain, we can not see the true beauty that the Earth beholds. We can not even begin to imagine the gift this planet has the power to give to us until we suffer. So, to tell you this story, I can’t just show you the light. I have to shroud you in darkness, sear hurt into your skin like the world had once done to me. I have to drag you down into the recesses of blackness, show you the depths of the hell we lived in. Otherwise, you wouldn’t understand. I have to tell this story right, and that requires me to be brutally honest.  
  
This is not a story about love. This is a story about fear. This is a story about brokenness. This is a story about darkness. But most importantly, this is a story about truth.


	2. one: senioritis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All stories have a beginning. This one might just be a tad unconventional...maybe.

senioritis

noun. A crippling disease that strikes high school seniors. Symptoms include: laziness, an over-excesses wearing of track pants, old athletic shirts, sweatpants, athletic shorts, and sweatshirts. Also features a lack of studying, repeated absences, and a generally dismissive attitude. The only known cure is a phenomenon known as Graduation.

 

_When I amble up to the doorway, I see her just laying there in the dark room. I crawl up onto the bed, making sure to be extra careful not to crumple the piece of paper in my grip. I gently prod her swide to wake her up, but she doesn’t move a muscle._  
  
_I gently call her name, poking her again. She still isn’t moving. I repeat her name, louder this time. She isn’t waking up, why isn’t she waking up? What’s wrong with her? Before I know it, strong arms are pulling me away and I kick and scream and-_

I jolt awake as my alarm blasts, alerting me that it’s time to prepare myself for the daily bullshit that is high school. Hand clutched over my heart, I try to gather my breathing before aggressively hitting snooze. I run my hand through my messy mop of hair as I let a deep sigh out through my nose.  
  
_It was just a dream, Kirschtein, get over yourself,_ I think as I throw myself out of bed. I remind myself that I’m not in that place anymore as I hurriedly jam my limbs into items of clothing. I do one last check to make sure I’m not forgetting anything and sprint out the front door with keys in hand.  
  
I throw the car into ignition as soon as I jump into it and head off to Starbucks on my way to school. I go full-on homicidal if I don’t have my coffee in the morning. I don’t want to accidentally decapitate someone or anything today, so that’s that. Essentially, no coffee, no survivors.  
  
When I pull up to the window to grab my drink, the overly peppy barista passes me the cup with a sickly sweet smile. She tells me to have a nice day and I grumble in response before driving away. I glance at the messy handwriting scrawled on my cup and notice the name, ‘John.’ The sharpied on monstrosity mocks me as I glare at it and wrinkle my nose in distaste. _Those culturally insensitive fucks. My name is French, is it really that hard?_  
  
I brush it off and settle for mild annoyance as I finish my drive to school. Some dude cuts me off at an intersection and has the audacity to honk at me. _Me._ I wasn’t even in the wrong, he was the one who decided to be a dumbass and not mind the rules of the road. So naturally, I stick my head out the window and yell, “Use your blinker, asshole!” to which he responds with a middle finger promptly waved in my direction. _Hm, charming._  
  
The city of Trost isn’t known for its kind people, that’s for sure. Mildly inhospitable, and kind of a shithole if we’re being honest, but hey, it’s home. The rest of my drive goes without a hitch.  
  
As I pull into the senior parking lot, I pass tons of vibrant eyesores called paintings in other student’s spots until I find mine. The dark colors and swirling lines that you’d call artistic ability stick out like a sore thumb in this place, but I’m proud of my work. I cringe as I recall the stares of the preppy girls who were painting the spaces located around my own over the summer, but quickly shake it off.  
  
After parking, I turn my car off and sigh, dragging a rough hand across my face. I stare out at the school through my windshield from where I sit and question if getting a free public education is worth it. After a moment, I decide that it’s better than being at home and trudge inside.  
  
For being in such a big city, the Trost High School campus isn’t all that bad looking. In the small front courtyard stands a statue of a faceless warrior who is covered in all sorts of straps and odd gear. He wields two blades and is in a defensive stance. Probably not the direction I would’ve taken the soldier mascot, but it’s at least pleasing from an aesthetic standpoint.  
  
That said, I’m not really one for school spirit. Compliments to the architecture of the front of the school is probably the only good thing I’ll ever say about Trost High. As soon as I walk through the front doors, the burning stench of raging hormones slaps me in the face. Over the summer, I’d forgotten about the pungent smell that this school carries, but over the last few weeks I’ve come to remember the dread that comes from walking through these halls.  
  
Disgustingly touchy couples make out along every corner, cockroaches roam free, and there’s a rat infestation in the ceiling that the higher ups are too cheap and ignorant to fix. Sometimes you can even hear the little vermin scurrying above you during a class. I should clarify that I’m referring to the rats, not the administrators. Also, the lockers suck. On average, it takes about three tries for you to open your locker, and even then, some punching of the lock might be necessary. Muttering curses to myself, I struggle with my own locker and jiggle the knob before grumbling some more and hitting the mechanism. It pops open only after I tell at it as if I’d been personally attacked by it. In a way, I was.  
  
Just as it opens, the two goons that I call my friends saunter over to me, snickering about god knows what. Connie is the first to speak, “So, ‘mother fuck of a shit,’ huh?” he questions with a smirk, repeating the words I had just said to my locker moments before. Sasha outright cackles. “Oh, shut up,” I retort. “It’s not like you haven’t said similar things to yours.” He rolls his eyes and drops it. Sasha then picks up conversation.  
  
“You going to the football game tonight?” she asks. Both her and Connie look hopeful. I snort and peer into my locker. “No, of course I’m not going to the football game, you dumb shits.” I can practically hear their disappointment when I slam the locker door shut. “Yeah, that’s what we thought,” Connie says. “Was worth a shot though,” Sasha adds. Connie hums in agreement. I feel my expression soften a bit when I turn to see their faces.  
  
“We really wish you’d come, Jean,” Sasha says. “Yeah, then we’d have more people to help us sneak beer in,” Connie chortles. Sasha hits him on the arm, but I notice the small chuckle she stifles. “Seriously though, man,” he continues. “You never go, it would be really nice to see your horse face there with us for a change.” At that, they both burst into laughter and I start to walk away, but the pair of idiots follows me.  
  
Connie wipes a stray tear from his eye and sighs as he says, “Sorry, sorry. Couldn’t resist. You coming though?” He and Sasha both stick out their bottom lips and make goo goo eyes at me, being sure to whine like little puppies while they’re at it. Sasha even clasps her hands together and says in a baby voice, “pretty pleeeeease.” and punctuates it with a flutter of her eyelashes. I give them an empty stare. “Laying it on a little thick, don’t you think?” I ask. Connie then responds with a cheesey grin and the question, “But it’s working, isn’t it?” I groan. “Fine, I’ll go to the stupid football game.” They both break the act and jump into the air and scream like little kids. Connie hands Sasha some money with the statement, “You, were right, Sash,” and I narrow my eyes.  
  
“Hey! Were you guys taking bets on me?” I exclaim. Connie gathers a look of shock on his face and places a hand to his chest in an exaggerated and overdramatic gesture. “What? We would _never.”_ He feigns innocence, but I know immediately. He sees that I’m not amused and puts on a more neutral expression. “Fine, fine. But these bets weren’t all fun and games, Jeanbo. Now I owe Reiner and Bert twenty bucks each. So there’s some human suffering for you to laugh about.” I snicker, “Serves you right, asshole.” Sasha laughs. “Wow, Jean. I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to him.” A self-satisfied smirk settles on my lips as I say, “Yeah, you’re probably right.” We all chortle as we walk to class.  
  
Ahead of us, Mr. Ackerman is leaving Principal Smith’s office, and I swear I see Principal Smith slap Mr. Ackerman’s ass, but I can’t be sure. Connie and Sasha apparently see it too, and then Connie says, “Hey, that reminds me, have you read our new chapter yet?” Sasha laughs beside him. I make a choked sound of distaste as I often find myself doing with these two. “Guys, that’s fucking disgusting. You have got to stop writing explicit fanfiction about our teachers.” Connie laughs. “Technically, Mr. Smith is the principal.” Sasha feels it necessary to add, “Besides, do you even realize how popular it is? We have SO many likes, you wouldn’t believe it if we told you.” I say that I don’t need to know and then we all part our separate ways to head to our classes. I plop down in my seat in Professor Hanji’s Physics class just as the bell rings.  
  
I idle through the day and spend most of my time writing in my little leather bound journal. It’s in pretty rough shape, but it’s still usable. There are many tabs and ribbons sticking out in every which way, most of them marking doodles or song lyrics that I particularly like or find most useful. It’s kind of stupid, but my mom got me into journaling, so I never let this thing go.  
  
After school, I go hang out at Connie’s house before the game. Sasha goes too because those two are never apart. Honestly, I think they might be dating but if they are they don’t let on. Their relationship is pretty weird, so who knows. We spend the few hours between school and the football game playing video games and chatting about our friends. During this, I realize that I don’t know who we’re playing tonight, so I raise the question. Connie and Sasha give me shit-eating grins and I just stare at them in confusion, cocking my head slightly.  
  
“Dude, tonight is the rivalry game against the Titans. How did you not know that?” I just shrug and point out that I normally don’t care about or even pay attention to football. They both roll their eyes and continue their round of Rocket League. It takes me a moment, but then I come to a not-so-pleasant realization. “Wait, if tonight is the rivalry game, then it’s gonna be insane!” Connie and Sasha just laugh excitedly while I let out a whine, saying that I don’t want to go anymore. They tell me I have to and I just groan in submission. I lay on the floor and watch them play until we have to leave.  
  
We all decide that I should drive, considering I’m going to be the only one out of the three of us not drinking. That, and we want to save gas. Connie calls shotgun and Sasha whines about being stuck all by herself in the back. Connie offers to race her to my car for the front seat, and she accepts his challenge. Sasha smokes him in the race, so she ends up sitting in the front with me while Connie complains about how it isn’t fair and accuses Sasha of cheating somehow.  
  
I put the key into ignition, and the engine sputters and coughs for a moment before roaring to life. As I put the car in drive and we roll down the street, Sasha takes control of the radio. She turns the volume up as loud as it’ll go and rolls down her window, sticking her head out into the wind. She screams with joy and Connie soon follows suit. _Geez, it’s like I have a couple of dogs in my car._  
  
I try to act annoyed, but I find a soft smile resting upon my face as I do. Things may have been rough, but these dorks really make up for a lot. For a moment, I forget everything and have a moment of pure joy.  
  
I drive into the parking lot adjacent to our school’s football stadium only to find the parking lot to be extremely full. The smile is immediately wiped right off of my face, as are Connie and Sasha’s. “Oh, come on,” Connie grumbles. “For fuck’s sake,” I mutter. “I told you this was a bad idea.” Sasha interjects with, “Come on guys, calm down. We’ll just find a parking spot and go have fun. Sound good?” I nod tersely. “Good,” she says. I take a deep breath and find a spot after looking for what seems like forever. We then enter the stadium with Sasha and Connie’s poorly hidden beer stuffed inside our clothes.  
  
Immediately, the cheerful screams of a plethora of people assault my ears. We’re a little late, so the game is already in full swing. Fans shake noisemakers of all sorts and both schools’ bands play excessively while coaches aggressively scream at their players. I pause at the entrance for a moment to take it all in before I snap out of it and continue walking to the stands. Sasha immediately disappears and returns to us a moment later with more food than she can carry. She offers me a nacho, and I politely decline.  
  
Instead of paying attention to the actual game (I’ve never been a big sports fan), I direct my gaze towards the cheerleaders. As I scan through them, I notice Annie. I don’t know what’s scarier, the regular snarl she usually wears or the fake, toothy smile she has donned for the game. I’d rather not continue to deliberate, so I look away. I snort as I see Armin and Krista cheering beside one another, the only discernible difference between the two being their uniforms. Other than that, I wouldn’t be able to tell which is which. I point this out to Connie and Sasha, and Connie laughs while Sasha just lets out a noncommittal grunt, completely engrossed in the game as well as her food.  
  
My eyes then fall on Mikasa, and she’s as beautiful as ever. I think I start drooling because Connie knocks me on the side of the head and says, “Hello? Anybody home? Earth to Lover-Boy. Quit staring at your girlfriend.” That snaps me out of it. “H-hey! She’s not my girlfriend.” Connie snorts. “Dude, you were practically eyebanging her. I mean I don’t blame you, she is pretty hot.” I feel my face heat up as I flush a bright red. “Well…” I start. Connie interrupts, “Why don’t you just hop on that, dude? Seriously, you’ve been after her for years. Screw Jaeger, man. Just go for it.” I open and close my mouth with the intention of saying something, but since I can’t find any words, I end up looking like a fish out of water.  
  
Sasha finally decides to enter the conversation with, “Would you two horndogs quit staring at the cheerleaders and watch the game already?” She says it with her mouth full, spraying all sorts of food onto me and Connie. “Sorry,” Connie and I say in unison. I then brush the food off of myself and turn my eyes to the game. Connie and Sasha start talking to each other in football jargon that I don’t understand, so I zone out for a while. After Connie brings me back to reality by hitting me on the arm after a stressful play, I opt to watch the game in silence and just enjoy my company. Sure, Connie and Sasha can be real weirdos, but they’re nice to hang around. Gives me lots of good stories to tell, that’s for sure.  
  
By the fourth quarter, both teams are tied. Sasha informs me that if the Soldiers want to pull this together, they need to put Marco back in. I recognize the name, but aside from knowing that he’s just another douchebag that’s a part of the football team, I don’t really know much about him. She drones on and on about strategy but I just sort of tune her out and watch the game. I don’t really know what I’m looking for, but I watch anyway.  
  
“Ha!” Sasha yells. “Those coaches really do have some brains in them, they’re putting him back in!” She continues to talk about how good she is and that she was right yadda yadda yadda, and I tune her out again. It’s sort of something you have to learn how to do if you want to survive hanging around Sasha and Connie. I must seriously zone out this time, because next thing I know the crowd is roaring and Sasha and Connie are on their feel screaming bloody murder. Sasha jumps so high that her popcorn goes flying everywhere, including all over me. She’s thrashing and screaming and everyone around me seems to have gone batshit crazy. I look up at the scoreboard and suddenly realize why. Trost won the game. That hasn’t happened in _decades._  
  
Connie is shaking me by the shoulders and yelling, “Do you realize what this means? This is revolutionary! We just witnessed history!” I just sit with my eyes wide and let it all happen. Over the immense sound of people shouting excitedly, I hear the announcer say incredulously, “Due to a last second play by Marco Bodt, the Soldiers have won The Battle of the Walls for the first time in decades! This is history right before your eyes, folks! Congratulations to Trost High!” I still can’t believe what I’m experiencing, so I stay in shocked silence.  
  
Connie separates from me and he and Sasha make a toast, not even caring if any administrators see their beers. Some splashes out over the stands and they both laugh gleefully. After the alma mater is sung and the band plays the fight song, the stands start to calm down a bit. People begin to leave but Connie Sasha and I decide to linger for a bit longer. After sweeping Krista off her feet for a victory kiss, Ymir saunters over to us with a wolfish grin on her freckled face.  
  
“Hey guys,” she says. “I’m having a party at my house tonight to celebrate the game, you in?” Sasha answers for the three of us and says we’ll be there, but I quickly correct her. “Woah woah woah, no. You convinced me to go to the game, that’s it. No party.” Ymir rolls her eyes and asks me what I have shoved up my ass. I flip her off and return my gaze to Connie and Sasha. They shoot me pleading looks but I refuse to give in this time.  
  
“Don’t make me pull Reiner into this,” Ymir says. I groan. “C’mon, he doesn’t need to get involved. I just want to go home, is that so hard to believe?” Ymir looks me dead in the eye and says, “Yes.” She then pulls out her phone and dials up a number before putting the phone up to her ear. “Oi, Reiner. Tell this punk little shithead that he needs to drag his scrawny ass to my party.” She then pushes the phone in my direction and I groan before hesitantly taking the phone.  
  
“Hey, Reiner,” I say halfheartedly. “Hey, kid,” he says, even though we’re the same age. His voice is muffled by the excited cheers of others in the locker room, just slightly audible above the chaos. “Look, I know you don’t want to go to this party, but you’re not doing yourself any favors by shutting yourself in your bedroom all the time. I know that you don’t really want to go home either, and besides, this’ll be good for you, man.” I sigh because I know he’s right, he’s always right. “I just, I don’t feel very well right now,” I lie. He sees right through me in an instant, and Mama Braun is the one who replies to me next. “Jean, cut the shit. I hate to pull this, but I know that you need to go to this party. Just this once. If you don’t do it for yourself, do it for me.” I groan and rub my temple in frustration. “Alright, fine. I’ll go, but I’m not happy about it. You owe me,” I say, and Reiner agrees. He tells me he’ll see me later and then promptly hangs up.  
  
I hand Ymir her phone back and she smiles at me with an evil glint in her eye. “Coming?” she asks, and I nod. “Good. See you little shits later, then,” she says, directing it at all three of us. After that, she walks away to talk to Krista.  
  
Connie Sasha and I then begin the walk back to my car. In the parking lot, I hear an unmistakable voice shout my name with venom. “Hey, Jean! I caught you staring at Mikasa earlier. You’d be smart to leave her alone.” I whip around to see Eren Jaeger’s ugly mug staring me in the face. He’s got his posse of football goons behind them and they’re all laughing. I roll my eyes. “Oh, shut up, Jaeger. At least I don’t wanna fuck my sister,” I spit. Eren then rushes forward and grabs a fistful of my shirt and I pull my arm back, ready to punch him if need be.  
  
“Come on, now, boys. This isn’t necessary, is it?” Sasha asks cautiously, edging closer to us with her hands raised. “Yeah, we’re all having good fun. Wouldn’t want to ruin that, now would we?” Connie adds, chuckling tensely. Eren tightens his grip on my shirt and looks past me at Connie and Sasha. He shoots them both death glares as he growls, “Butt. Out. This is none of your business.”  
  
Sasha and Connie both take microscopic steps backward and I move to hit Eren, but a large hand catches my own. Reiner’s booming voice cuts into our altercation, “Stop it, both of you.” The blonde steps in between us and puts his hands on our chests, separating us. He looks back and tells him to leave, and after huffing in annoyance, Eren walks off with his goons.  
  
Reiner drops his hand and says, “When I said see you later, this is not what I meant.” I look down in shame and tell him I know before apologizing, and he pats me on the shoulder and tells me it’s okay. I thank him for saving my ass and he says it’s what he does. We both chuckle and head off to our cars, promising to see each other at the party.  
  
Connie and Sasha politely listen to me complain about Eren until we get to the car, at which point they tell me they want positive vibes from now until the end of the party. I begrudgingly comply and drive in silence all the way to Ymir’s house. I prefer to just listen to Sasha and Connie talk, anyway. It’s not like I have anything of value to add to their debate about sauerkraut.  
  
When we arrive at Ymir’s, there are cars parked all down the block. Music pours out of every crevice of her house and people stream in and out of it, bringing drinks and chatting amicably. Drunken laughter bubbles throughout the air and people are already tripping all over each other. I realize that it’s gonna be a long night and let out a painful hiss.

_“Merde.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can tell, Jean speaks French in this story. I'm not really a French speaker, and since I'm using Google Translate for the translations, they're most likely wrong. If any of you lovely readers would like to help me out along the way, I'd love it! I'm pretty clueless, so I'll take all of the help I can get. Thank you!


	3. two: party foul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things are better left alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!

party foul

noun. A moment during a social gathering when one does something embarrassing and/or stupid.

 

I freeze in the driveway for a moment, feeling the familiar sensation of ice coursing through my veins slowly spreading throughout my body. I stand there shell-shocked, seriously considering sprinting back to my car and driving away as fast as I can. Before I have a chance to act on that compulsion, however, Connie and Sasha drag me up the driveway and across the threshold, knowing full well what I’m planning.  
  
I cringe as someone runs toward the doorway and pukes in the potted plant beside my feet. Sasha and Connie laugh, but I can’t seem to make the unsettling stab in my gut go away. They push me further into the house, bringing me into a corner of the living room that we can hang out in. Reiner and Bert soon notice our presence and push their way through the mass of bodies to make their way over to us.  
  
Reiner claps a hand on my back as Bert says a quiet hello. They both have drinks in hand and know better than to offer me one. They do walk with me into the crowded kitchen though, and they wait while I grab myself a red solo cup and fill it with water. Sasha then says, “You seem like you’re in good, capable hands, Jean. Mind if Con and I head to the Smoking Hole?” She gestures towards a door down the hall with a smile. I snicker and nod, the tension in my stomach fading away.  
  
“Yeah, sure. But why don’t you just call it the guest bedroom or something?” Connie scoffs as if it’s obvious and says, “Dude, Smoking Hole sounds way cooler. Besides, it ain’t up to us.” I laugh as I notice the wobbly handwriting on a piece of torn notebook paper hung on the door that reads ‘Smoking Hole.’ “Whatever, you dorks. Just go get high off your asses and have fun.” I wave them off as they leave, Sasha giggling and pushing Connie forward excitedly as she bounces her way towards the room.  
  
I turn back to Reiner and Bert and they both just laugh. I laugh too; I don’t think this party will be so terrible after all. I’ve got my friends here, so I’m okay. The three of us walk back into the living room and stand in the corner talking. Reiner then asks, “So, Jean, how’ve you been?” We haven’t seen each other in a while, so I guess this is his way of catching up. I consider lying, but I know he’d catch me right away so I decide to tell him the truth.  
  
“I’ve been alright, not the best, but I’m still breathing.” He and Bert chuckle at that. Bert then says, “That’s good. Glad you’re doing okay.” In that moment, they both look at me with slight concern in their eyes, and I know they care about me but sometimes it’s like I have two nagging dads bothering me all the time. I say it’s a bother, but I secretly like it; it’s nice that I can say I have friends that care.  
  
We then move on to some more casual topics like complaints about teachers and how the football team is doing this year. A sudden scream then comes from outside along with a large splash. We all turn our eyes to the sliding doors that lead to the backyard and see that people are pushing each other into the pool. Reiner and Bert give each other a quick glance with mischievous glints flashing between their eyes. A look of horror comes onto my face as I realize what they’re planning.  
  
Before I can move, Reiner drops his drink and throws me over his shoulder, causing me to let out a surprised yelp that is honestly extremely embarrassing. I kick and scream, punching Reiner’s back as I do so, hoping to god that he’ll put me down. I scream for Bert to help me but he only laughs. Reiner starts to move towards the sliding glass door leading to the pool and I scream louder, completely emasculated at this point. We reach the edge of the pool, and Reiner takes my hands while Bert takes my feet.  
  
“Guys, don’t!” I shriek, still flailing wildly. The two of them count in unison while swinging me in time, “Three, two, one!” But instead of releasing me on one, they just pick me back up and set me on dry land. I stand completely stock still with my shoulders raised as Reiner gives me a hearty pat on the back and lets out a boisterous laugh. Bert chuckles beside him and I just mutter, “You know what? You two are assholes.” not really meaning it. This makes them both laugh even harder. Reiner doubles over and Bert just wheezes out, “You should’ve...seen your face, Jean...it was priceless!” At that, I give in and start laughing too, mostly out of relief. I feel dizzy with unused adrenaline as the three of us walk back inside to the spot we were in before.  
  
Just as we walk in, a half-naked Connie can be seen running from the guest bedroom to the kitchen with a bra on his head and what seems to be a pentagram drawn in ketchup on his stomach. People point and laugh as he goes, and I don’t blame them. He looks pretty ridiculous in his My Little Pony boxers and socks as he sprints through the house.  
  
Some crashing can be heard from the kitchen before he runs back out into the open, this time with his arms full of food. He trips on his way back into the bedroom and falls flat on his face as soon as he crosses the doorway. His voice muffled from the carpet he yells, “Don’t worry, everyone! The Conmeister is a-okay!” People all around the area have their phones out and are taking videos, most likely to post on Snapchat. Then Sasha can be heard from inside the bedroom shouting, “I don’t think they were worried, baby!” _Well, I guess that answers that question._ “S-Sasha, shh!” Connie stammers. Sasha hurriedly corrects herself with a scream of, “Oh, turkey! I said turkey!” followed by nervous laughter.  
  
Ymir staggers by the door and slams it on her way over to us while shouting, “Show’s over, folks! Continue partying!” Nobody pays the scene any mind after that. When she reaches us, Ymir slings her arm around me and slurs in my ear, “Having fun, Jeanbo?” I chuckle and say, “Yeah, now that you’re here.” She snickers and replies with, “Wow, you really know how to charm a girl. Too bad my drunk ass is Krista’s.” She laughs harder at her own joke than any of us do. Ymir slips and almost falls but I catch her. “God, Ymir,” I say. “How are you so drunk off of that pisswater?” She shoots me a hard stare before saying, Don’t knock it until you try it, Jeany-boy. Besides, you know it’s not a Ymir party without shitty beer.” Reiner snorts and says, “This is true.” Bert nods beside him.  
  
“It’s no fun if you’re not wasted, Jean. You should try it sometime,” Ymir adds. I just shake my head and let her saunter off as she seems to be done with this conversation. Reiner and Bert chuckle at the way she wraps her freckled arm around Krista’s waist and promptly falls over. From across the room, Krista’s gentle voice can be heard saying, “Okay, babe. I think that’s enough for one night.” I soon join Reiner and Bert in the chuckling.  
  
After a few more minutes of talking, Reiner and Bert decide that they want to go dance. They invite me to go with them but I tell them I’d rather not. They ask if I’ll be okay by myself and I tell them that I’m a grown-ass man and that I don’t need them to babysit me. They then walk off and tell me to find them and tell them if I need anything. I simply snort and wave them off.  
  
For a moment, I regret telling they could go, but I just take a deep breath and suck it up. I decide to go into the kitchen and grab a snack or something, just for something to do. While I’m in there, I refill my cup with water and grab a handful of chips. After refueling, I go back out into the living room and lean against the staircase. I watch all of the happy people dancing and laughing together, and I start to feel increasingly lonely. I quickly shake off the thought as I take a sip of my drink.  
  
The more I stand here by myself however, the more bitter I become. Since I’m without my friends, I have nobody to keep up my good mood. My happiness steadily slips away with every minute that passes by, and I have no motivation to chase after it. Instead, I lean back and wallow in my own self-pity. As I slip into this state, my senses seem to become hyperaware.  
  
The bass of this horrendous music is so loud that it’s practically shaking the walls. There’s like strobe lights and shit here too; god only knows where Ymir got all of it. The stench of her shitty beer is burning my nose hairs off, and I think I might join the rest of these drunk fucks in the puke fest. Couples clumsily stumble into bedrooms around me and I let them pass even though they’re all probably shitfaced to know what’s what anyway.  
  
I want to search for Reiner and Bert, but there’s no point. I can’t even see Bert’s head sticking up from the sea of people, so I’d get lost in any attempt to find them. Maybe I could look for Ymir, but who even knows where the hell she is anyway. Probably watching some drunk dudes fight or something, she lives for that shit.  
  
I pull out my phone and scroll through Tumblr in an attempt to keep my brain from exploding, although I don’t think I’d complain if it did. The simple action seems to calm me down a bit, and I’m thankful for the familiarity of my phone keeping me grounded.  
  
All of a sudden, I look up to see a sturdy form rushing towards me, beer sloshing everywhere from the red solo cup in his hand. Some even gets on me and I hiss out a string of curses. As the figure continues to approach, I realize that Marco fucking Bodt is coming over to me and he just spilled beer all over my favorite Nirvana t-shirt.  
  
“What the f-” I’m cut off as he crashes his lips onto mine in a feverish kiss. _What the fresh hell does he think he’s doing?_ I try to break away from him but his strong arms hold me in a tight grip. I try to at least back up but instead of escaping I only slam into the wall. _Okay okay I’m not dying and hOLY HELL IS HIS TONGUE IN MY MOUTH? I need him off, NOW. What am I supposed to do?_ I keep pushing and pushing but a lanky French kid can only do so much when a heavily muscled football player has him pinned against a wall. My hands push at anything I can reach - his chest, his arms, even his fucking face. _Jesus, I can barely breathe, is he trying to kill me or what?_  
  
He finally releases me from his stronghold and we’re both panting. His warm hands slide away from my face and fall limply at his sides. There’s a moment where our gazes meet - mine burning with anger and confusion, his alight with panic. He backs away slowly and frantically runs his hands through his hair, realizing what he’s done. I look beyond him to see that everyone is staring at us now, shocked beyond words.  
  
There’s a split second’s pause where he tries to come up with something to do, and then he tries to play it off like it was an accident, that he’s just really fucking wasted. Everyone knows it bullshit, and they all start whispering amongst themselves, rapidly shooting out insults and slurs directed at Marco.  
  
“He’s a faggot,” they say.  
  
“That’s disgusting.”  
  
“People like that should be locked up.”  
  
“I think I’m gonna be sick.”  
  
“What’ll coach do when he finds out?”  
  
All of the words are too much for him and he sprints away to some other room. All I can do is stand there like an idiot. I run my fingers over my lips absentmindedly, making sure my lip ring is alright. The panic starts to settle in my stomach as I realize the gravity of what just happened.  
  
Marco Bodt just tried to pretty much eat my face in front of over 50 people, and this shit spreads fast. _Nom de dieu, what if they come after me? ‘You turned our freckled saint Marco gay,’ they’ll say. ‘You ruined everything and now we’re gonna fuck you up.’ Putain, I’m a dead man. I mean, I could probably take one or two of these fuckers, but this is gonna be the entire school. You know what? It’s not even my problem, right? He’s the one who kissed me. It’s his own damn fault. I’m just an innocent victim in all of this. Right?_  
  
_Okay okay okay._ I try to slow my breathing and calm down. _It’s alright, Kirschtein, you’re cool, it’s cool. You got it. Merde I don’t got it. They’re gonna beat my scrawny ass and I gotta get out of here._ I don’t even bother trying to find the others anymore as I scramble to grab my phone off the floor from when I dropped it and fast-walk out the door. As I hurry to my car, I hear the sounds of kicking and pained grunts. Some slurs are strewn into the mocking words leaving angry lips. _Not your problem, Kirschtein, just ignore it. Just ignore it._  
  
I throw myself into my piece of shit car and slam the door shut. I groan and put my face in my hands against the steering wheel. _What the hell am I supposed to do?_ As my heart pounds against my ribcage, I feel the painfully familiar sting of panic rise in my chest. My breathing turns into short pants and I struggle for every wheezing breath I receive. With shaking hands, I pull my phone out of my pocket and dial Petra’s number. As soon as she picks up, I cry out for her, “P-Petra, please help me…” My voice breaks as I’m on the verge of tears and she immediately realizes what’s happening.  
  
“Jean, please just breathe and tell me where you are. I’m gonna pick you up. Just stay where you are and focus on your breathing. You’re staying at my place tonight.” I don’t have enough breath in my lungs to deny her offer, so instead I struggle to read the blurry characters of the house number. I shakily recite it to Petra as best I can, hoping I said it at least remotely correctly so she can find me.  
  
I hear the jingling of her keys and the start of her engine over the phone. The sounds of her hurrying to get here soon fade away as the rushing of blood in my ears gets louder and louder. It sounds muffled when she says, “You’re going to be alright, Jean. I’m with you, I promise. Just breathe and fight through it.” When I don’t respond, I think she realizes that I’m physically incapable of speaking to her, but she stays on the phone with me anyway. She tries to coach me through this as best as she can, but it’s proving difficult for her over the phone.  
  
The next few minutes pass very slowly. The lull of Petra’s voice seems very far away and I can’t seem to steady my breathing at all. I try my best to do some deep breathing, but the only thing I’m capable of is releasing short, shallow puffs of air. My heart is racing and I feel like I’m going to die in this very moment. I clutch my chest and curl my knees into my body, bringing my legs up into the seat. I rock back and forth in an attempt to cope, but nothing seems to be working.  
  
After what feels like hours, Petra is opening my car door and pulling me to her chest. “I’m so sorry, Jean,” she says, stroking my hair. “I tried to get here faster but there was traffic. Please just breathe. Feel the way I do it and try to copy me, okay?” She takes deep breaths and I mimic her to the best of my ability. She pulls me up out of my car and helps me walk to hers. It’s probably not best for me to walking right now, but she knows that I don’t want anyone to see. She gently places me in her passenger seat and leaves me for only a moment so she can get in on her own side. Instead of driving, she turns over to me and continues to pull me through this panic attack.  
  
“I want you looking at me and nothing else, okay?” she requests, grabbing my hands in an attempt to keep me with her. I nod weakly and she gives me a slight smile. “Good. This is almost over, alright? Your body can’t keep this us for more than a few minutes. You’re doing so well, please just keep fighting.” My breathing slows ever so slightly and my heart rate starts to stabilize as we sit in her car. I slump in the seat from exhaustion and look up at her droopily. My body is mostly back to normal, but now I need to rest. Petra sees that I’ve returned to healthy levels and begins to drive.  
  
She leaves the radio off and knows not to ask what set me off. Instead, she just leaves us in silence, letting me rest. I stare out the window and watch the outskirts of Trost fly by in a blur. To help me relax, I close my eyes and listen to everything around me. I listen to Petra’s steady, quiet breathing. I listen to the soft clicking of her switching gears. I listen to the rhythmic taps on the steering wheel that she thinks I can’t hear. I listen to the gentle hum of her engine, and I try to let a calm peacefulness settle over me. It doesn’t quite work, and I’m left feeling a bit sick to my stomach.  
  
When we reach her apartment, Petra helps me out of the car and slings my arm over her shoulder so I can lean on her while we walk. She half carries me up the front steps and lets me lean against her in the elevator. While she unlocks her front door, I steady myself against the wall beside it because my legs are seemingly made of jello. As soon as we get inside, I plop down onto the couch. She makes sure I’m alright there before walking into the kitchen, asking me if I would like some tea. “That would be wonderful,” I croak.  
  
While she’s preparing the tea, I look around at her living room. I’ve crashed on this couch many times before, and I try to think of every other time I’ve been in this exact position. The whole situation with Petra is odd, but I don’t know where I’d be without her. I lose myself in memories of ninth grade as I stare at the coffee table.  
  
My freshman year, I took a basic music theory class, and Petra was my teacher. She told me I had a gift for music, and it was then that I realized my passion for it. She was my favorite teacher of all, and I always looked forward to her class the most each and every day. We got a little too close, and then she became too observant, noticed things that she shouldn’t have. Others simply looked past the mysterious injuries, whereas she saw them and never let them go. She saw how I flinched when people got too close. She saw the truth in what was going on in my life.  
  
One day after class, she pulled me aside and asked me about where all of my frequent bruises and cuts came from. I tried to lie to her and say that I was just clumsy, but she wasn’t convinced. She asked what my home life was like and I broke down and told her the truth. She said that she was going to get me help, but I cried and begged her not to tell anybody. My dad was all I had, and I didn’t want to be taken away from my home. No matter how terrible, he was, I didn’t want anyone to know what he did to me. I didn’t want anyone to know that he got drunk and hit me sometimes, and how I cried. At first it was only yelling, but as I got older it escalated and he got out of control. I thought that if I fought back I’d only make things worse for myself, so I never said anything to anyone.  
  
Petra tried to get me to tell, said it would be better for me and that I could be safe, but I refused. No matter how much she pushed it, I wouldn’t do it. She promised me she wouldn’t tell anyone, but only because she wanted it to be on my own terms when people found out. I just figured that I only had to live with him for a few more years, and then I could be out. As long as I could make it through high school, I’d never have to see him again, and I still stand by that. She still tries to get me to tell sometimes, but I just can’t bring myself to do it. I hate to admit it, but I’m too afraid. Petra and I made a deal that year - if I wasn’t going to tell, then I had to let her take care of me. She’s protected me and cared for me like a mother ever since.  
  
The high pitched whistling of the kettle pulls me back into the present. I look into the kitchen to see Petra pouring us two cups of tea. Her eyebrows are knit together in concentration and her tongue is stuck out slightly as she pours, and then she looks up to see me and smiles with endearment. I smile back softly as she carries the cups into the living room and covers me with a blanket. Even though she’s not that much older than me, I really do think of her like my mother. I think she sees me as her son, too. Some people might think it’s weird that a teacher and student have a bond like this, but she’s more of a friend than a teacher to me now. I still take her music classes, but again, she’s been with me through too much for me to simply call her my teacher.  
  
As I wrap my fingers around the cup she hands me, I say, “Thanks, Petra.” She smiles warmly. “Of course, Jean.” A serious look finds its way onto my face and I look down to the ground. “For everything, I mean.” If it’s even possible, her smile only softens more. “I’d do it all again if I had to.” She ruffles my hair as she continues, “I love ya, kid. You know that.” I let out a low chuckle and look up to see her smiling brightly at me, her eyes sparkling. “I know you do,” I respond.  
  
We drink our tea and whisper about nothing in particular, sitting on her couch in the middle of the night. It must be about three or four AM at this point, and it’s now that I notice how disheveled and tired she looks. There are bags under her eyes and her strawberry blonde hair looks a bit frazzled as strands of her messy ponytail fall across her face. Her robe is haphazardly wrapped around her small frame over her pajamas, and I realize that I must have woken her up when I called.  
  
“I’m sorry,” I say suddenly. She raises her eyebrows in confusion before asking, “What? Why?” I look down and pick at the edge of my cup. “I don’t know, worrying you, waking you up, making you come pick me up and stuff…” The words are uttered more as a question than a statement. Petra sighs before answering with, “Oh, Jean. You have nothing to be sorry for. I did all of that because I wanted to, not because you made me or anything. Sure, some sleep would be nice, but I’m glad i can help you. I much rather be awake here with you than be asleep and have you freaking out somewhere in that car. God, if you drove like that you could’ve gotten in a wreck or something. Point is, I’m glad to know you’re safe, and that feeling is better than any sleep I could be getting right now.”  
  
I don’t know how to respond to that, so I just puff out my cheeks and let out a short breath. After drinking that tea, I can barely keep my eyes open, and Petra, as always, notices. She takes my cup from me and tucks me in on the couch before wishing me sweet dreams and telling me to go get her if I need her. “You know where to find me,” she says, gesturing to her room. I nod and watch her walk away. I feel my heavy eyelids fall and let myself drift off to sleep.

_The smell of fresh omelettes dances through the air and finds its way to me, pulling me out of my bedroom and into the kitchen. I climb up into my chair and watch Maman sway as she cooks, humming softly under her breath. Papa comes up from behind her and wraps his arms around her waist, kissing her on the cheek. She laughs and hits him with a spatula, telling him to leave her alone while she cooks. He just proceeds to sway and dance with her, and she only laughs harder. They both radiate bright, happy energy, and I can’t help but smile giddily at the sight. She playfully swats him again, and he separates from her and comes to sit with me at the table. He starts to tickle me and I laugh and kick, running out of breath quickly._  
  
_Maman soon comes over with plates full of delicious omelettes and places them in front of me and Papa, also setting one out for herself. She pulls me away from Papa and kisses me on the forehead, cooing, “Je t’aime, mon petit, monstre.” She pinches my cheek and rubs our noses together, making me smile gleefully. All three of us hold hands and pray before we eat. As soon as we say amen, I dig into my omelette. “How is it, Jeanbo?” Maman asks. I smile and nod with my mouth full, sticking both of my thumbs up in the air. Both Maman and Papa laugh, and I am happy._  
  
_Suddenly, everything is dark and Maman is being pulled away from me. I yell for her, but she doesn’t respond. I reach for her but I can’t quite get to her. The more I try, the further she gets._  
  
“Maman!” I cry, shooting up from the couch. My hand flies up to the chain around my neck, searching for the ring that dangles from it. I’m breathing heavily and I’m drenched in a cold sweat. It takes me a moment to remember where I am, but I soon realize that I’m in Petra’s living room. I tangle my fingers in my hair and give a small tug to keep myself from crying; it doesn’t work. I clutch the ring in my hand as I silently sob, tears streaming down my face. Fils de pute, she was so close. I bring the ring close to my heart and keep it there, curling in on myself as I whimper.  
  
“Jean?” Petra calls, walking out into the living room and wrapping her robe tighter around herself. “What’s wrong?” “N-nothing,” I sniffle. “I’m just...just remembering something, that’s all.” I don’t meet her eyes. She comes closer and puts her hand over the one of mine that holds the ring. “I understand,” she says quietly, and I can’t help but curl into her and let a sob wrack through my body. She rubs gentle circles into my back and I cry harder. She lets me cry until I’m finished and then she pulls back. She knows I don’t want to talk about it, so she brings something else up.  
  
“You’re more than welcome to stay the weekend here, you know.” I sigh exasperatedly. That’s certainly not something I’m expecting or really wanting to hear. “You know I can’t,” I say. “But why not?” she asks. “I don’t think it’s a good idea that you go back home. I hate sending you back there, you know. It tears me up inside, especially when you wake up like that.” I groan and put my head in my hands. “I know that, but you know I don’t have a choice. If he notices that I’m missing all weekend, he’s gonna freak. He probably already wants to kill me after last night.” Petra scoffs, “But you do have a choice, Jean. If you just told-” I don’t even let her finish that thought because I know exactly where it’s going. “No, Petra.” She tries again, “But-”  
  
“No. I’m sorry, but that’s just not something I want to do.” Petra sighs in resignation before saying, “Fine, do you want me to take you to pick up your car?” Thankful that she’s dropped the subject, I reply, “Yes, please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Please let me know what you think.


	4. three: patheticity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it all becomes too much.

patheticity

noun. The pure and utter state of being pathetic.

 

After picking up my car from Ymir’s I say goodbye to Petra and head off to Starbucks in an attempt to delay my inevitable doom. This probably won’t help my situation, in fact, it’ll probably be worse because of this, but I’d rather put it off because the same thing will end up happening anyway.  
  
I decide to go inside instead of going through the drive-through this time around, the only reason really being that I want to slow my arrival home as much as possible. After I pick up my croissant and cup of black coffee (on which the barista spelled my name wrong yet again), I pick a small table in the back corner of the store. Once I sit down, I take a sip of the scalding, bitter beverage and appreciate the kick it gives to my system.  
  
As I’m biting into my croissant, images of last night flash behind my eyes. My memories of the party flood back into my brain and I quickly remember the reason I stayed at Petra’s last night. I blanch and set my croissant down, deciding that I’m not very hungry anymore.  
  
My mind goes back to the time I spent slumped against the staircase, messing around on my phone. It then returns to the next moments that all go by very quickly. My eyes flick up, and all the sudden hungry lips meet mine and the rest is a blur. As I recall the events of the night previous, my slender fingers travel up and ghost over my lower lip, brushing against the cool metal residing there. My stupor only lasts a moment before I shake myself out of it.  
  
I try my best to forget all of it, but the things I heard as I swiftly made my way to my car keep echoing in my ears, haunting me. Deep down I know it was him out there, being brutally tortured by his own, but I don’t want to accept the cruel reality of it. Instead, I try to focus on myself, which only reminds me of the nightmare I had last night at Petra’s.  
  
My night terrors have been getting worse recently, spiraling out of control even, but I don’t know how to make them go away. I’m worried that people will start to notice the bags under my eyes, the hollow and sunken recesses of my skin. I’m afraid they’ll see through me, and I can’t let that happen.  
  
The only way out of things like this is through, but it seems I can’t escape my past. Try as I might, I can never get it to leave me alone. Sometimes I can’t even admit to myself that I have a problem, and I know that needs to change, but I’m too prideful to let it. Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to feel at all. Maybe then I wouldn’t have to suffer like this, and maybe then I’d be free. If I was just numb, I think it would almost be better than the way things are now.  
  
Deciding that I have no more time to waste wallowing in my own apathy at a Starbucks on a Saturday afternoon, I walk out to my car. I plop down into the driver's seat and sigh, not quite ready to go back home and face my father. I stare up at the roof of my car and soon realize that I don’t really have any other place to go, so I put my keys in the ignition and drive away. I don’t even turn on the radio as I drive home, opting to sit in silence instead.  
  
At one particular stop light, I glance around at the bustling city of Trost and wonder if the people I see are happy. I imagine what their lives are like, where they work, who they love, what they enjoy. I think about their hopes, their dreams. I hope they’re happy, I really do. I know it’s stupid for a cynical guy like me, but I’d like to believe it. The more realistic part of me, however, tells me that not all of them can be happy; it’s just not how the world works.  
  
I then wonder if happiness is even possible for me, if I can find it again someday. I used to search for it, full of hope that it was out there, but the dream was quickly beat out of me. After failing to find it day after day, I just gave up. I know it’s no way to live, but it’s been so long that it’s just routine for me now. I’m stuck in this haze, and there’s nobody that can pull me out of it. It feels like I’m sitting all alone down in the dirt, vines growing all around me until eventually they cover me and I’m trapped. They wrap around my arms and legs and my throat, suffocating me. At this point all I can do is wait for someone to find me and save me, for a hand to come out of the light and into the darkness to dig me out.  
  
A sudden honk and a shout of, “The light is green, you moron!” from behind me pull me back to reality and I jolt as I remember where I am and what I’m supposed to be doing. I scramble to hit the gas and breathe a sigh of relief when the nutjob behind me decides to spare me and not blast my brains out. Here in Trost, shootings happen a lot more than I’d care to admit.  
  
As I pull into the parking garage adjacent to my dad’s apartment complex, a bad feeling trickles down my spine. I grip the steering wheel a fraction tighter and my breaths become just the slightest bit shallower. After I park, I sit in my car for a moment longer in an attempt to shoo away my nerves. _He’s your dad, you big baby. Just go inside. You’re a man, aren’t you? If he tries to hurt you, just fight back._  
  
_Mon dieu, how I wish it was that simple._  
  
Steeling myself, I jump out of the car and walk in the direction of the complex before I can change my mind. Fists curled by my sides, I hurry across the street, wishing I could just be safe in my room already. _I’m not afraid of him, I’m not afraid of him, I’m not afraid of him._ The mantra is like a song in my head, but no matter how many times I repeat the phrase, I cannot convince myself of it.  
  
I walk into the building with my head down and my nerves on edge. My heart pounds and I can’t slow it down. The sooner this moment is over, the sooner I can be calm again. I just need to get to my room and then everything will be okay. The fellow apartment dwellers on the elevator give me strange looks, and I don’t blame them. I probably look like I should be in a mental institution, and at this point, I’m starting to believe that I actually belong in one.  
  
When I reach my floor, I quickly step off the elevator without a word to the other people. In an act of bravery, I pull my keys out of my pocket and unlock the front door to the apartment. I take a deep breath in through my nose and before I know it I’m looking up at my kitchen. I turn to go to my room, but I’m not fast enough. My shoulders raise as I hear him approaching, and I wince as I hear each footfall hit the floor.  
  
I flinch when my father stumbles into the room, the gleam of a flask in his hand catching my eye. He slams his fist on the counter when his clouded eyes meet mine. “Where the hell were you last night?” he slurs, the burning stench of alcohol on his breath. I wring my hands together nervously and look down at the floor as I stutter, “I-I um...was at a friend’s.” He quirks an eyebrow before viciously replying, “Oh yeah? Then how come you didn’t tell your dear old dad about it?” I dig my toe into the tile while I consider an answer he might like.  
  
“I uh...I didn’t want to bother you or anything. You seemed a bit busy, so I-” “You sayin’ I’m too busy for you?” he interrupts. “I only do this stuff because I care about you, you know,” he spits, inching closer. I back up a step, slightly raising my hand for protection. “I know…” He advances again before asking with contempt, “Then why don’t you trust me?” I step back once more. “I-I do tr-” “Tell me the god-damn truth for once, Jean! For fuck’s sake!” he screams. I cower, stepping back as he increases his pace towards me. I try to run, but he backs me up against the fridge behind me and grabs a fistful of my shirt before I can. I attempt to hold my ground and look him in the eye, putting on the strongest glare I can muster. He tilts his head and sizes me up before letting out a low chuckle.  
  
His voice is dripping with venom when he says, “Finally sticking up to your old man, huh? We’ll see about that, now won’t we? You never were much of a fighter. Couldn’t even be strong for your mother, always just drew her pictures and sang for her like the little pussy you are.” I struggle in his grip as he lifts me up slightly so I’m at his height. My feet dangle off the ground and I kick aimlessly, not able to do any real damage. Tears well in my eyes as I let out a watery cry, “L-leave her out of it!” I sound so weak and frail that I disgust myself. “There you go, crying like always I see,” he snarls. I wriggle in his grip and kick out, hoping and praying to his something, anything. As my knee makes contact with his stomach, I let out a weak, “Stop it!”  
  
He lets go of me in favor of clutching his stomach, and I take this as my chance to sprint to my bedroom. I’m safe momentarily, but I hear his heavy footsteps behind me as I run. I don’t look back, focusing only on my target. “Get back here!” my dad growls. “We’re not finished!”  
  
Once I fly into my room, I slam the door and collapse against it, locking it as quickly as I can before sinking to the floor against it. I grasp the ring around my neck as I pant, praying for the banging on my door to go away. My dad shouts but I try my best to tune him out while I wheeze, “Maman, je suis desole de vous avoir decu. Aidez-moi, s’il vous plait.” The last few words come out as fragile sobs.  
  
I hang my head between my knees, ring still tight in my grip. “Je veux que les choses revienent a la facon dont ils etaient.” I call out to my Maman, hoping that wherever she is she can hear me. I know it’s foolish, but I feel so alone, so cold. I just want her here with me. As I slip into an exhausted sleep, despite it only being midday, I swear I feel her warm arms wrap around me.

~~~

_The smell of vanilla floats through the air, calling my senses to attention. The calming lull of morning invites me to stay snuggled up in my bed and feel the warmth of the sun rays shining through my window. I curl my little toes and yawn, looking up at the stars carefully painted on my ceiling. A soft knocking pulls me from my daze, and I sit up slowly as I call, “Come in!”_  
  
_A beaming smile graces my lips as my visitor becomes visible. Her soft edges blur with the light coming from behind her, and her hair has but a few strands hanging loose from her ponytail, framing her round face. She reaches out to me and gifts me with her calming smile, making my grin even wider. She whispers a soft, “Bonjour,” as she approaches and I repeat the greeting in kind. She wraps her arms around me and I attempt to do the same with my own short and chubby ones. She peppers kisses throughout my hair, causing a giggle to bubble up from my throat._  
  
_She pulls back and brushes hair from my forehead, switching to English as she says, “Jean, my brave, beautiful boy. My little soldier. I love you so much. No matter what happens, I’ll always be your mother, and I’ll always love you. Even when I’m not with you, always keep me in your heart.” She gently takes my right hand and softly kisses it, then places it on my chest directly over where my heart beats quietly. “Think you can do that?” she asks. I nod enthusiastically, although I’m not too sure what she’s talking about._  
  
_She then picks me up out of bed and places me on the floor. I slip my feet into my shark slippers as she takes my hand and asks, “Ready for breakfast?” Her radiant smile shines down upon me as I nod, and we amble out to the kitchen together._

The image fades away as I struggle to open my eyes, stuck shut with crusty, dried tears. My room is dark, save for the streams of moonlight cascading through my window. Shadows stretch out across the floor, appearing as if they’re clawing their way towards me, calling out to me. I soon regain feeling in my numb body and with a dull pain in my spine realize that I’m curled up on the floor against my bedroom door. My fingers twitch as I slowly come to, and a cool metal rests against my skin. I look down, seeing that the ring is till nestled between my bony fingers.  
  
I just sit and stare at it for a moment before craning my head back to rest against the door. My head pounds with memories of what seems like another life, and I close my eyes as tight as I can in a feeble attempt to bring myself back to them. _I hear you, Maman, loud and clear. Thank you._ My heart aches as I hold her ring against it, her words echoing in my brain. They bounce off of my cracking walls like ping pong balls, refusing to be forgotten or ignored. I remember her smile, I remember her laugh, but most importantly, I remember her love. My Maman is still with me, and she always will be.  
  
I sigh at the thought, remembering all that I’ve lost. I hold the thought close to my heart and clutch onto it for dear life. I can’t tell if these memories are the only things keeping me sane or the things pushing me over the edge, but I don’t care. I have them, and that’s all that matters. I take a deep breath and struggle to stand on my shaky legs, making my way over to my desk to check what time it is.  
  
The obnoxiously blinking blue letters read 1:04 AM and I groan, dragging my hand across my face as I realize sleep is probably not going to be my friend tonight. Considering the dream I just had, I might be blessed enough for a night without nightmares, but I think I’m too restless to attempt to go back to sleep now. Instead, I pull my phone out of my pocket and check my notifications for the first time since before the party on Friday.  
  
The first few messages are complete nonsense sent by Connie and Sasha most likely from their time spent in the Smoking Hole. The more recent ones are slightly more sober sounding. At first they’re just casually asking where I am, but the texts progressively get more worried. _Shit, I forgot. I was their ride._ The further I scroll, the more profanities are strewn into the mix, and the more my eyebrows furrow together. Connie asks what the hell I think I’m doing and Sasha says Connie is too pissed for her to handle. They both tell me off until the texts come in from Saturday morning in which they ask what happened and if I’m alright. They seem clueless, so they must have missed the incident while they were locked in the bedroom.  
  
I then move on to the flurry of texts from Reiner, the development of messages similar to that of Connie and Sasha’s. The difference though, is that I have at least thirty missed calls from him, and about ten voicemails. The first few just consist of, ‘Hey man, where are you?’s and ‘Call me back when you can’s. The next one kicks my heart up into my throat. After I hit play, Reiner’s booming voice scolds me from through the speaker.  
  
“Dude, what the hell? Your car isn’t even here anymore, why’d you take off? You were Sasha and Connie’s ride, you know. You just stranded them here, and now Bert and I have to take them home. I know you didn’t want to come to this party but that’s no reason to be an asshole, you just ditched your friends. You didn’t even say anything to any of us. What the fuck is wrong with you? That’s just not cool, man.” A soft tapping noise is heard as he hangs up and ends the message, silence then ringing in my ears. I hang my head in shame, feeling terrible that I disappointed my friends. I almost turn my phone off until I see that there are more messages. I wince as I hit play, not quite sure if I’m ready to hear what Reiner has to say.  
  
“Look man, would you just call me back? I’m sorry for yelling before, but you’re not responding and we’re all starting to get a bit worried. Could you just send a simple text to let us know if you’re okay or not? Thanks, bye.” I click the next message.  
“Jean, are you okay? Come on man, this isn’t funny, please just say something, anything. Please.” I baulk before clicking the last of the voicemails he left.  
  
“Jean, please just say something. We’re all worried sick. Nobody is mad at you, I promise. I don’t know what’s going on but something is obviously seriously wrong with you. Where are you? If you need to be picked up somewhere, we’ll get you. Just call or text when you can, okay? Connie has cooled off and Sasha is crying because she’s so worried. We all really care about you, Jean. I just want you to hear that, wherever you are. You might think you’re alone, but you’re not, okay? We’ll fight for you until the end, and I mean that, I really do. Please just let us know if you’re alright, okay?” I slump down onto my bed and let my phone slide out of my hand, trying to allow the soft thump of it hitting my comforter to ground me. The sting in my chest subsides but is only replaced with a numb hollowness that I can’t quite name. Reiner’s message was meant to comfort me, but it only did the opposite.  
  
I feel broken and can’t bring myself to breathe normally. The too-bright screen of my phone mocks me with the unchanging image of the voicemails tab, and I rip open the drawer of my bedside table before throwing my phone into it, slamming it shut as soon as I can.  
  
I jerkily jump up off of my bed before tugging on my hair with both hands, trying and failing to control myself. I hiss through gritted teeth and frantically pace along my room. Time and reality slip away as I move, and I lose track of how long I continue to cross my room back and forth. I begin to feel dizzy and fall into my desk chair, releasing a puff of air as I do so. My eyes cloud over, and as I reach for the world around me, it crumbles in my fingers, destroyed under my desperate touch. My last attempt at clinging to sanity escapes my grasp, and my mind slips away.  
  
The next time I’m aware of my surroundings, the sun is blinding me as it escapes through the cracks in my blinds. The walls around my consciousness crumble, and my vision clears. I bring a hand up to shield my eyes from the sun and blink the burning light out of my eyes. I slowly turn to see the clock blinking the numbers 9:37 AM and struggle to grasp what that means. The concept of time returns to me and a sharp pang stabs my chest as I realize I’ve been sitting hollowly in this chair all night. The numbness soon returns and I refuse to acknowledge the repeated buzzing coming from my nightstand. If I ignore it for long enough, it might leave me alone.  
  
I close off the outside world again as I sit alone in my room, ignoring my body’s pleas for food and sleep. I decide that allowing myself to rot here in this chair is a better use of my time than taking care of myself, and hope that maybe, just maybe, I can fade away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Jean speaks in French, he is saying, “Mom, I’m sorry I disappointed you. Please, help me. I don’t know what to do. I miss you, please just come back, Mom. Please.” and then “I want things to go back to how they were.” I used google translate for all of this, so there’s a high probability that it’s incorrect. If you know French and would like to help me out, please feel free! I don't really know how French works whatsoever, so I could really use the assistance. Thank you!


	5. four: lame-ass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is the Earth still spinning?

lame-ass 

noun. A person that is being a dick and knows it. Alternatively, something/someone that is unpleasant or boring. 

 

The rest of the day seems to pass by agonizingly slowly, yet I can’t bring myself to remember a single specific moment of it. Each time a ringtone is heard from my nightstand, there is another stab to my chest. I lose count of how many times the god awful sound rips me apart, and I desperately plead to the universe for the numbness I crave to override the pain flooding my system.  
  
I want to be able to scream, cry, or be angry, but I can’t. All I can bring myself to do is sit here and feel my own sanity crumbling before me. The more time that passes, the more broken I think I become. No matter what I do, what I think, no matter how hard I try, I can’t make this suffering leave me. I will it away with all of the strength I have left, but the more I push against it, the closer it gets to me, almost as if my pathetic clawing is a warm, welcoming invitation.  
  
Feeling nothing would be so much easier than hating myself, hating what I’ve become. The remnants of who I used to be make me sick, and I truly believe that there are no good parts of me left. Not only did I make all of my friends hate me, but I probably destroyed the life of a total stranger. I realize that sacrificing my emotions will also detach me from good feelings like freedom and joy, but it almost seems worth it with the burdens I carry now. Blank nothingness would be a beautiful gift to behold.  
  
I wouldn’t have to worry about hurting the ones I love on account of the fears holding me back. I wouldn’t have to worry about needing the comforts of others. I wouldn’t have to worry about crying every time _she_ was mentioned. I’d be free to live my life without these crippling emotions hindering me from doing what’s important.  
  
But alas, the numbness won’t come, and I’ll have to survive the cold darkness for one more day. I have hopes that someday I’ll break free of these chains, spread my wings, spring forth and soar to happiness, but the more rational part of me says it’s not possible, that it’ll never happen. Broken people like me rarely get second chances, nonetheless happy endings.  
  
I spend my Sunday sulking in my room, never once pulling my phone out of my dresser to answer the messages I’m surely being left. I don’t want to see or talk to anyone, I’ll only bring them down if I do. I don’t even realize what time it is or how long I’ve been staring out my window, but I suddenly come to and a wave of fatigue rushes over me. Not only is it a physical tiredness, but a spiritual one as well. I’m mentally exhausted from the war waging within me, and the lead-like weight of my own cognitive chaos seeps into my bones and drags me down.  
  
I stand up on shaky legs and barely manage to stumble over to my bed. I plop down onto the soft comforter and take a deep breath, wriggling my fingers over the fabric in an attempt to ground myself. I close my eyes and feel the mattress underneath me and listen to the faint sirens coming from outside. I try to remind myself what is real and what isn’t, but the internal darkness refuses to leave. It makes a nest inside of me using shreds of my own heart and lays eggs of falsities in my ears. It cries out, telling me that I’m really just a nuisance to the people around me and that the only reason they even talk to me is because they feel bad for me.  
  
My brain turns against me, and even through the techniques I was taught to fight the demons, I only serve to fan the flames. My mind is riddled with evil spirits, and the only thing to do now is submit to them. It feels like hours, but eventually I coerce my body into sleeping. The night turns out to be more horrifying than restful.  
  
Needless to say, the nightmares finish me off during my slumber.

I wake up screaming a few hours later, and I’m too afraid of myself to even blink. Shutting my eyes means going back to the terrible place that is my mind, and I can’t do it again, I just can’t. I sit up and curl my scrawny knees up to my chest, clutching them as tightly as I can. I rock back and forth in a pathetic attempt at comforting myself. I cling on to the light creaking of my bed, the quiet sound the only thing letting me know that this is real. I hope that the monsters don’t catch up to me, but I know they’re already here.  
  
One sits with me in my bed and another watches me from the windowsill. There are dozens of them in this very room, and their searing gazes burn holes into my paper thin skin. They watch me hungrily, drool dripping from their razor sharp teeth. Dried blood clings to their claws like I cling onto my own foolishness. They don’t make any sounds, but I know exactly what they want. They’re waiting for me to drop dead so that they can sate their ravenous appetites with whatever is left of me. What they don’t realize is that I’m already gone.  
  
I rock and stare back at them until the sun comes up. Even though it’s a bit early, I decide to get ready for school. As I get dressed, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I nearly gag at the creature staring hollowly back at me as I pull tee-shirt over my head. My ribs are well pronounced against my sickly pale skin and my bones seem to stick out at odd angles on various places on my body. The only color in my eyes is around them, held in the sunken recesses of my dark circles. It looks almost as if I’ve gotten in a fight and received two black eyes. My lips are beaten to pulps from biting them during my sleep, and my hair is an absolute disaster.  
  
I look like just as much of a wreck as I feel, and it disgusts me. Who would even want to look at that...that _thing_ in the mirror? I force myself to look away and finish my morning routine, albeit a little out of it. I hurry out of the house, not really sure if I’m prepared for the day ahead of me.

As I amble up to my locker, I notice smudges of black writing against the green surface. When I get closer, I read that the word ‘FAGGOT’ has been aggressively written across it. I stare at the message in disbelief for a moment before clutching the straps of my backpack and leaning my head against my locker. I close my eyes as tightly as I can, fighting off the monsters; it doesn’t work. I feel a small one land on my shoulder and sink its fangs into me. I curl my shoulders up into my neck in defense, but the monster still manages to take a small piece of me.  
  
I probably look like a freak to passers by, but they all apparently think I’m disgusting so it doesn’t matter anymore anyway. It’s not that I haven’t been called names before, because I’ve been made fun of plenty of times, but it’s just that I’m already so fragile, and if they’re doing this to me, I can only imagine what they’re doing to _him._  
  
The whispers of people walking by plant themselves in my ears and grow thorns, tearing into me. Two distinct voices don’t pass by me, but instead stay by my side and sound ecstatic to see me. Their bodies crash into me from behind, and I’ve never been so happy to have my personal space rule breached. The monsters fall away when these two losers are at my side.  
  
Connie and Sasha crush me in a hug from behind and sing praises into my shoulder blades. “Jean! We’re so glad you’re alright!” Sasha cries. “Yeah, man! We were worried sick about you,” Connie chimes in. I turn around to look at them, and as soon as they see me, their faces fall.  
  
“Oh my god, dude, you look like hell,” Connie says. My stomach drops. _Shit, they noticed._ I immediately stiffen and the monsters return. Sasha holds my face in her hands and says, “J-Jean, what happened to you? Are you alright?” I’m suddenly extremely uncomfortable with her touching me and I squirm to escape her grip. Every muscle in my body is tense, poised to run. Connie and Sasha don’t let me.  
  
Sasha’s gaze travels around my lanky from, pausing on the writing scrawled across my locker. Her breath hitches in her throat. “Oh, Jean,” she says breathlessly. Connie notices it too and asks, “Shit, dude. Is everything okay?” _They’re worried about me. I can’t burden them like that._ I force my lips to curl upward in a sickeningly fake smile. “Oh, that’s nothing. I’m fine, really.” Connie shoots me the most serious glare I’ve ever seen from him before saying, “Dude, when we walked over here your head was pressed up against your locker and you were beginning to curl in on yourself. You looked like you were about to _break._ ” His choice of words makes me shudder.  
  
“I-I’m not... _broken,_ ” I start. “I’m just, I’m just kinda tired, that’s all.” Both Connie and Sasha stare me down for the lie. “Don’t try to pull that fucking bullshit on us,” Sasha says. “We’re only saying this stuff because we’re worried about you, you know.” _I knew it, they just pity me._ “I don’t need you to worry about me,” I spit. To my horror, genuine hurt flashes in both of their eyes. “We only worry because we care about you, Jean. We’re your friends, and that’s what friends do,” Connie croaks. “We just want to see you _happy,_ ” Sasha adds.  
  
I close my eyes and shake my head. _This can’t possibly be true. They have to be lying._ I look up at them and see that they’re both staring up at me with worried looks in their eyes. _No, it is true. They’re my friends, of course they’re telling the truth. I have to be honest, too._ “Alright, fine. The truth is, I feel like shit. I had a really rough weekend and I appreciate you guys supporting me but I just want some time to myself right now.” I internally cringe at my own lie. Connie and Sasha deserve better than this. _Will I ever stop hurting myself like this?_ Despite my disgusting case of dishonesty, both of their faces morph into caring smiles.  
  
“Okay, cool,” Sasha says. “We’ll give you all of the time and space you need. Just remember that we’re always here when you need us, right Con?” Connie nods in agreement. “Well, bye Jean, I hope you feel better soon.” I force a smile onto my lips and thank them as they walk away. _Please don’t leave, you guys. I didn’t mean it. Please don’t leave me alone. I’m scared._  
  
The smile falls off of my face as soon as I turn back to my locker. I scrub the hateful message off my locker door with my sleeve before getting the things that I need out of it. I almost walk away, but then I see Armin cleaning a locker a ways away from me. He scrubs at black ink with a rag, but only manages to smudge what was once written there. The weird part about it is that it isn’t his locker. His locker is next to Eren and Mikasa’s lockers on the other side of the hall; something about this image isn’t quite right.  
  
I assume that he’s cleaning a message similar to the one left for me, but I have no idea whose locker it’s on. I have a pretty good guess, but I wonder why he isn’t cleaning it himself. I decide to let it go and deal with my own issues instead, minding my own business.  
  
I coast through my day on autopilot, pretending not to hear the words said about me by classmates. At lunch however, an unavoidable conflict arises. I’m sitting with the usual group, and they all tell me they’re happy to see me. Connie and Sasha must have told them that I needed space because none of them press me about my disheveled appearance.  
  
All goes well until I notice Eren fucking Jaeger striding up to our table. Everyone else knows we don’t get along too well, and they all react accordingly. Bert starts sweating more than usual, Reiner gives me a warning look, Annie stares Jaeger down, Connie and Sasha scoot down in their chairs, Krista inches closer to Ymir, and Ymir puts her arm around her. Essentially, these are our battle positions. I am in no mood to take Jaeger’s bullshit today, so this might get particularly messy.  
  
Before he even opens his stupid mouth, I’m scowling. By the time he asks me how the party was, I might as well be fucking growling. I stand up quickly, my chair being thrown onto the ground from the sheer momentum of the move. Jaeger smirks at me and I clench my fist by my side. By this point, I’m seeing red. “What the hell do you want, asshole?” I snarl. He laughs at my anger. “Wow, for someone who got some serious action the other night, you’re a bit grumpy, aren’t you?” I snap and before I even realize it I’m across the table and I’ve got his collar clutched in my left hand, my right fist pulled back and ready to punch him. My hand shoots forth and a shockwave runs through it, and audible crack heard as it makes contact with his nose.  
  
Jaeger stumbles back and puts his hands around his nose, blood trickling out from between his fingers. As I look around at my friends’ faces, I soon realize what I’ve done and instantly regret it. “What the fuck, man?” Eren says, voice muffled by his hands. “I was just messing around, I’m sorry! Jesus Christ, I think you broke my nose!”  
  
I fall into a chair and stare, calculating if and how I can fix the mess I’ve put myself in. I think my friends are calling out to me, but I’m not quite sure. Everything sound so muddled, almost as if I’m underwater. My vision blurs and then the ground seems to get closer and closer. Before I realize what’s happening, all fades to black. 

_Ugh, why is it so bright?_ When I open my eyes, light invades my vision and I have to squint and shield my face to see properly. I look up to see the school nurse looking up at me, but I can’t quite hear her. Her lips move, but all I hear is muffled nonsense. She appears to be asking me something, but all I can do is blink up at her in confusion.  
  
My ears suddenly clear and her slow, gentle words pull me out of my stupor. “I said, are you alright, sweetheart? Do you remember what happened?” I sit up and clutch my head, struggling to recall what I was doing and how I got here. “Oh dear, just take it slow. You blacked out,” she coos, ghosting her hands over my back for support. When I open my eyes and see Eren Jaeger sitting across from me, holding a mass amount of bloodstained tissues against his nose and scowling deeply, it all comes together.  
  
I jolt with the realization, making the nurse flinch. Her hands quickly come back to me and I try to shoo her away. “I, uh...I’m fine now, so I’m just gonna go back to class now,” I say, gesturing to the door of the nurse’s office. The nurse shifts and gets and uncomfortable look on her face, saying, “Actually, y-” Eren interrupts her with, “Principal Smith wants to talk to us, actually.” I gulp. “Why?” I ask, even though I already know the answer. “Turns out, punching people in the middle of the cafeteria is against school policy,” he says smugly. I feel my eye twitch as I resist repeating my offense.  
  
The nurse takes this as her time to involve herself in our conversation, “Now, now, boys. If you’re both healthy enough to bicker, then I suggest you make your way over to Principal Smith’s office immediately.” She places her hands on her hips and comes across like stern mother. Eren rolls his eyes but obeys her orders, standing up from his chair. “Coming, Horseface?” he asks. I roll my eyes and stand as well, making my way over to the door. “Wouldn’t miss this for the world,” I say sarcastically.  
  
We make our way to the principal’s office in silence, not daring to even look at each other. He takes heavy footsteps beside me, and they echo in the empty halls. When we reach Principal Smith’s office, we stare at the door for a moment, not really sure ifwe want to enter or not, even though we don’t really have a choice in the matter.  
  
Eren makes the first move by knocking lightly on the door. There is a moment of odd sympathy between us that I’ve never really experienced with Eren before. His green eyes lock onto mine and for a split second, there’s a feeling that I can’t quite place there. The only feelings those eyes have ever held for me are anger and contempt, so I’m confused when I notice something different. The flash of sympathy leaves as quickly as it comes however, and when Principal Smith opens the door, we are both back to being mildly pissed and resigned to our fates.  
  
The look on Principal Smith’s face is grim, his giant eyebrows drawn low in what seems to be disappointment. He sighs before saying, “Come on in, boys.” This isn’t the first time I’ve been in this room with Eren, but for some reason this time feels different. Mr. Smith plops down in his chair before gesturing to the two in front of his desk, “Go on, have a seat.” After we sit down, he stares at both of us for a moment before continuing.  
  
“You both know why you’re in here, but I need you to tell me exactly what happened. So, what did you do?” Both Eren and I begin throwing blame at each other in a frenzy and Mr. Smith has to put a hand up to stop us. “One at a time now, gentlemen. You first, Jean.” I spare a glance at a pouty looking Eren before starting, “Well, sir, Eren here came up to my lunch table where I was just talking to my friends, minding my own business. He so brutishly picked a fight with me, I had nothing to do with it.” I say it as innocently as I possibly can, hoping to get out of this one. Eren pipes up before I’m finished, “Hey! You’re the one who punched me!”  
  
Principal Smith pinches the bridge of his nose and tells Eren to be quiet before urging me to continue. “Basically, he came over and started threatening me, and I was just defending myself. I don’t think I did anything wrong. Now, Eren on the other hand…” Eren scoffs and rolls his eyes. Mr. Smith just nods unenthusiastically and turns to the boy beside me. “Have anything to add, Eren?”  
  
“Yes, actually, I do.” It’s my turn to roll my eyes. I cross my arms and lean back in my seat, waiting for Eren to say something incredibly stupid. “ _I_ was just trying to be friendly.” There it is. “I didn’t even touch him. I asked him about a party and he just _attacked_ me. All I wanted to do was have a nice, civil conversation.” Mr. Smith raises his eyebrows and turns back to me, “Jean, is this true?” I blanch.  
  
“W-well…” _Technically, that is sorta what happened._ “I mean, he did ask about a party, and I did punch him in the nose. I can’t deny that...but! He was being totally facetious!” Eren mimics me to my right. “ _He was being totally facetious, wah wah wah!_ I bet you don’t even know what that word means,” he scoffs. “Oh yeah?” I say. “I bet you don’t either, you stupid-”  
  
“Boys!” Mr. Smith snaps, “The fact that two boys your age fight like a couple of children is ridiculous! I suggest you two get your act together, because there will be no fighting in my school. Both of you have detention with Mr. Ackerman after school today.” “But-!” Eren and I shout in unison. “No buts!” Mr. Smith says, “Now get out of my office.” We both grumble as we rise from our seats, making our way out of his office as quickly as possible.  
  
As soon as the door is closed, Eren looks me right in the eyes and says, “Fuck you.” I put my hand over my heart and retort, “Wow, I think that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.” He lets out a derisive snort before shooting back, “Shut up. See you later, asshole. I have to go this way.” And with that, we walks off. _Great, I fucked up some dude’s life, worried the hell out of my friends, and now I have detention with Jaeger. Could things get any worse?_ I consider the possibilities. _Shit, universe, don’t answer that._

The rest of my classes pass rather quickly, seeing as I’m too stuck in my own head to pay attention in any of them. It gets so bad that Connie has to throw a book at me after our last class of the day to let me know that it’s over. I want to snap at him, but I don’t have enough energy. Instead, I just throw him a halfhearted frown over my shoulder before making my way to Mr. Ackerman’s classroom. It’s just down the hall, so I don’t have very far to go.  
  
When I arrive, the tiny terror is standing on his toes scribbling the letters ‘DETENTION’ onto the board. I move to sit in the back of the classroom, but Mr. Ackerman knows what I’m trying to do. Without even looking away from the whiteboard, he growls, “Not so fast, shitstain.” Sure, his methods are a bit unorthodox, but they work. I’m in the front seat in no longer than a single second.  
  
When he turns around, he glares at me and asks, “Where’s Jaeger? Erwin said the little brat would be here too.” I just shrug and internally laugh at the fact that he called him Erwin instead of Mr. Smith. Connie and Sasha would get a kick out of that if they were here. _Of course I manage to get detention on the one day they don’t._  
  
The next few minutes pass by extremely slowly. With Mr. Ackerman staring at me like that I think I might spontaneously combust. A single look from that man could kill. I think I’ve been on the receiving end of too many of his glares to consider myself a part of the world of the living.  
  
Eren bursts into the classroom about ten minutes late and Mr. Ackerman scoffs in disgust at his arrival. Eren seems oddly chipper for someone who has essentially been given a death sentence. “Hello Mr. Ackerman! Sorry I’m late, I had to-” “Shut your mouth and sit down, brat.” Eren’s smile doesn’t even falter when he moves to take a seat. _What the hell is wrong with him?_ When I see him staring at Mr. Ackerman after he looks away, it all pieces together. _Oh, that’s just wrong on so many levels. I know he’d fuck anything but seriously? Keep it in your pants, Jaeger._ That’s a new low, even for him.  
  
Sitting through the next hour is downright torturous. Once Mr. Ackerman stops staring and Eren ends his fidgeting, there is nothing left to occupy my mind with except staring at the clock and watching the minutes tick by. The first few minutes are okay, but as time passes, the monsters return. I see them crawling out from cracks in the ceiling and the space underneath Mr. Ackerman’s desk. They pour out of every crevice and every hole, and all I can do is watch them multiply.  
  
I try to keep my cool, but I don’t think it works. Of course I know the monsters aren’t real, so they shouldn’t be able to hurt me, but they can. I’ve experienced it before. In my fear, my hands start to get clammy and my throat tightens. My leg begins to shake and Mr. Ackerman scolds me for the creaking noise my desk makes because of it. I try to calm down, but the more I think, the more difficult that becomes.  
  
_They’re just figments of your imagination, they can’t hurt you. They aren’t real, you just made them up._ But that’s just it, they’re a part of me now, and I can’t fight myself. They inch ever closer with this realization, and my nervous sweating and shaking increases tenfold. I try laying my head down on the desk and closing my eyes, but memories I had prayed to forget flash behind my eyes and I have to open them back up again.  
  
I grit my teeth and stare at the hand tirelessly spinning around the clock. I try to get the repetitive motion to lull me into a sort of peacefulness, but it never does. All I can do is dig my nails into my thighs and wait. I try not to lose myself in the feeling of claws sinking into my stomach as I count seconds. There are monsters crawling all over my entire body now, and I twitch in hopes of getting them off. Their efforts only increase. I’m suffocating, but I can’t leave. _I need to get out, now._  
  
I watch the final moments of detention slip away on the clock, muscles tensed and hand resting over where my bag lies on the floor, entire body poised to run out of here as quickly as I can. Finally, Mr. Ackerman tells us to get the hell out of his classroom and I spring up from my seat and sling my bag over my shoulder. I’m halfway out the door when he calls my name and tells me to hang back a minute. _Oh god, what have I done this time?_  
  
I turn around and lean against the doorframe, asking him what he needs. He waves me over to his desk before saying, “Come here a second, I need to talk to you about something.” I look around and notice that Eren is long gone before taking the few steps necessary to reach Mr. Ackerman’s desk.  
  
His eyes don’t hold the stern hardness they usually do, and I just stare at him quizzically. He sighs before saying something with an odd softness I’ve never heard in him before, “Petra told me about your dad.” My eyes widen and my stomach drops. “S-she what?” I ask nervously, an audible shake in my voice. “She told me about your dad. And listen, I know it’s not my place to say this, but you really should do something about it. There are people you can tell, places you can go to. I went through something similar when I was younger and I don’t want you to make any bad decisions. That’ll cost you later, trust me. Just...think about it, okay?” I stand there dumbfounded, not entirely sure what’s going on or how I should react.  
  
“If you don’t do it for yourself, do it for her,” he continues. “And don’t get mad at Petra, she just wants to help you. She only told me because she thought you’d listen to me. Clearly, she was wrong. I know the look of a man who has his mind made up about something, and you’re giving me the look right about now so I’m gonna let it go.” I stand there slack jawed, still piecing together all that he’s said. “I won’t tell a soul about this, okay Kirschtein?”  
  
I can only nod before I gather the strength to say, “Yes sir, thank you.” He nods and gives a slight smile (a truly horrific sight if I ever saw one) before returning to his usual self and telling me to get his bony ass out of his room. I walk out of his room feeling frazzled, and my mental state only proceeds to fall further.  
  
When I walk out the front doors of the school, a blast of cold air hits me and I have to pull my leather jacket tighter around myself in defense. I hurry across the parking lot to my car and silently wish that my heating systems worked. As soon as the door is closed, I throw my head back against the seat and let out a shaking breath. I stare up at the ceiling and gather my thoughts.  
  
In the past week, I’ve managed to do extensive damage not only to myself but in the lives of others. I’m useless, and I can’t do anything right. The only thing I’m good at is running away from my problems. Why does it feel like I’m slowly destroying my own life? _Because you are,_ a dark voice whispers in my ear. I flinch and look up into the rearview mirror, seeing that a small monster resides there. I suddenly feel lonely and cold beyond the physical sense.  
  
Sitting alone in the school parking lot after hours, an urgent thought pushes its way to the front of my mind. _There is nobody that can pull me out of this except myself, and I don’t think I really want to anymore._ I’ve tried and tried, and nothing seems to work, so why not give up? Some things just can’t be helped. I’ll let the nightmares take hold, and I’ll let the monsters consume me, clinging to every piece of skin I have. The thorns pierce with a dull sting. The cage is complete, and there is no escaping the tangle of brambles now.  
  
With thorns scraping down the back of my throat, I turn on the car and drive away. A weak noise escapes me as I struggle to breathe, and I hold it in for a few minutes longer. The drive is taken with the only sounds being my strangled breaths. As soon as I park my car, I carry my mangled body up to the apartment. My father waits for me in the kitchen, a bottle of beer loosely held in his hand, and I falter for a moment before heading towards my room without a word.  
  
He trails behind me, angrily growling at me about something, but the only words I catch are ‘late’ and ‘kill’. I don’t want to find out what he’s going on about, so I scramble to get into my room and lock the door. He pounds on it and screams at the top of his lungs. I’m almost convinced it’s a rabid animal behind the door instead of the man who conceived me.  
  
I hurry over to my speakers and crank the music up as loud as it’ll go just so I don’t have to hear him yelling at me. I do this with a choked sob and a slight stumble, unable to control my emotions anymore. I fall to my knees and place a shaky hand over my mouth to hide the sound. Tears well up in my eyes and blur my vision, providing space for the memories to flood back and haunt me. Flashes of my childhood hit me like a shockwave, and even though they share the same skin, the one I see before me in memory and the one pounding on my door are two completely different men. One is a kind, gentle soul who holds no anger, the other a ghost of a man I once knew.  
  
With every slam to the door comes a new sight. Bang. I give a joyful shout of “Papa!” as he lifts me in the air, spinning me around and kissing me on the cheek. Bang. I see him tracing his fingers over something I drew. Bang. He’s laughing uncontrollably at a story I’m telling him. Bang. He’s dancing with Maman and I in the kitchen. Bang. He cradles Maman in his arms. Bang. I’m bringing him flowers. Bang. Tears stream down his face. Bang. There’s an empty case of beer sitting out. He cries and I cry too. Bang. I approach him for a hug but he swings his arm and suddenly-bang, bang, bang. _Please, make it stop._  
  
My entire body shakes as I collapse onto the ground, my body wracked with sobs. Tears stream down my face and stain the carpet. I beg him to stop but I can’t tell if it’s in memory or if it’s happening now. I curl into the fetal position and weep, praying to any deity that will listen to make it stop, make it stop, _make it stop._ The universe does not answer my prayers.  
  
I lose track of how long I lay sobbing on the floor, and I don’t recall when the playlist I had on ended or when my dad gave up and left. The only sounds that echo in my ears now are my own disgusting sniffles. I don’t have the energy to even lift my head, so instead I just stay curled up on the floor and try to rest, never once getting a single wink of sleep. The nightmares don’t catch me in my sleep, but instead they haunt me in my wakefulness.  
  
I go all night with my eyes wide open, and am even more afraid than I’ve ever been in any of the night terrors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so I'm pretty overdramatic and extra, and I'd apologize, but I think that's what makes for a good story. If not, oops.


	6. five: stalkerish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not weird if it only happens once.

stalkerish

adjective. Used to describe someone who seems to be doing a little bit of stalker activity but isn’t quite a stalker. 

 

The next few days pass by just as tortuously, each night more horrific than the last. By the end of the week, my mental state is completely shattered, no shards of sanity to be found. Even in my bad state, I notice things seem to be out of place. I hear rumors of the star football player transferring schools. I hear people say that he’s gone missing, completely dropped off the map. The most disturbing part of it all is that the school’s once beloved hero has now become a villain to be scorned.  
  
Nobody seems to care where he’s gone or what he’s going through, but I can only imagine what he’s feeling if I’m like this. Granted, most of my issues don’t even stem from what happened last week, but it’s almost as if the events of that night evoked something in my mind to make matters worse. I’ve had issues for a long time, but ever since that night they’ve escalated dramatically. I’m at an all time low, and I have no idea what to do about it. My mentality is so fragile that I’m afraid to even move sometimes.  
  
Even though I have a great group of friends who provide me with amazing support all the time, I still feel lonely and unfixable. Ever since last Friday, all of my issues have seemed to resurface, and not even my closest buddies can fix me. Some of them don’t even know that these things are wrong with me, and even though I desperately need help, I can’t bring myself to ask them for it.  
  
They all know that something is very wrong with me, I see it in their eyes when they look at me. It’s similar to the look that you give an injured animal that’s been pushed into a corner. And now as I sit at lunch an exact week after the night it all went wrong, I pick at my food but never eat any. I feel my friends’ cautious glances coming from all around me, but I can’t bear to look up and meet any of them. None of them say a word to me, and I assume it’s because they don’t have a clue of the right words to use. I’m in the same boat.  
  
It’s then that a very crazy, very stupid idea comes to my mind. It’s then that I decide to do something very risky and idiotic, maybe only because I don’t have enough functioning brain cells left to advise me against doing it. This idea is my last hope. It may not even help. In fact, it might make matters worse, but I’ll never know unless I try. I don’t even know what I’m going to try and accomplish with it, but it’s got to be better than the way things are right now.  
  
My idea is this: I find this star football player, Marco Bodt I believe his name was, and get some questions answered. I mean, the guy hasn’t been at school for a solid week, something _has_ to be going on with that. I know I don’t know him, but I just feel like I have to talk to him. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to say, but something in me just tells me that this is something I need to do.  
  
I pull out my phone and look up the student directory online, hoping that I’m remembering his name correctly. I scroll through the B’s and stare awestruck at the simple font that reads, ‘Bodt, Marco’ and click on it to see more details. It shows me his address and the slight victory repairs a small piece of the ruins inside me. 

“Ooh, what’s that?” Connie asks from over my shoulder, making me jump. “I believe he was looking up a boy in the school directory,” Sasha answers, spitting crumbs all over my back. Even in times of crisis, Connie and Sasha are still completely tactless and invasive. “Aw, I think our precious Jeany-boy has a little crush,” Connie coos. A sudden heat rises to my cheeks. “D-do not!” I stutter, “I just need this because, because...I just need it, okay?” I find that even though I have no reason to, I’m getting quite flustered over a guy I don’t even know.  
  
Connie and Sasha just give each other small smirks and decide to drop it, surely making note to make fun of me for it later. I guess they figured they shouldn’t tease me when I look so close to the edge. _Good call._  
  
When the bell rings, signaling lunch is over, I grab my bag and head the opposite direction of where my next class is. It’s completely on impulse, but I stride towards the nearest exit of the school. _I haven’t been able to pay attention in class anyway, so what’s the big deal if I ditch?_ If I don’t do this now while the idea is fresh, I’m afraid I never will.  
  
I plug the address into google maps while I walk, trying to get off of school property as quickly as possible. When I turn the key into ignition, my car roars to life and I slide out of the parking lot. I think I’ve officially lost my mind, maybe even reached mental institution status, but I can worry about that later, I have a mission.  
  
I watch downtown pass by in a blur as I drive, my phone taking me to the outskirts of the city where suburban neighborhoods are scattered across the land like stars in the sky. The further away from the city center I go, the more extravagant the houses become. A thought of the days when I lived in a neighborhood similar to those I’m driving past prods at the back of my mind, and I shake my head to clear it away. _Focus, Jean. This is important._  
  
When the GPS directs me past even Ymir’s kingdom of a neighborhood, I start to feel anxious and out of place. Instead of being in awe of the buildings seemingly sculpted out of marble and gold, a sick feeling carves itself into the pit of my stomach. _You don’t belong here,_ one of the voices in my head whispers. _Get out while you still can,_ says another. Second thoughts about this crazy plan are catching up to me, but I know that I can’t turn back now.  
  
My heart sinks when I notice the subdivision I need to turn into is a gated one, but my anxiety leaves as quickly as it had come when I realize there isn’t a passcode, only motion sensors for cars. _I don’t really see the point of having a gated neighborhood if anyone can get in, but these people are the richest of the rich. They can basically do whatever the hell they want and get away with it._ I slow down slightly when I turn into the neighborhood, keeping my eye out for the right house.  
  
After passing several houses big enough to be hotels, I reach my destination. I shut the car off and step out into the street without any further thought. I’m met with a giant with house with towering columns and freshly cut grass than I ever thought possible. Everything about the hulking building is too perfect and it sends a shiver running down my spine.  
  
I take a deep breath and tiptoe up the front walkway, passing landscaping too pristine to be considered a real part of nature. When I reach the porch, I stare at the humongous doors for a moment, preparing myself for god knows what. I notice the door knockers shaped like lions’ heads and scoff. _Figures._ With a deep breath and a slight wince, I take one of the rings dangling out of the lions’ mouths in my hand and tap it on the door.  
  
I wait a few moments and half expect some butler who’s dressed to the nines to greet me and tell me that ‘The young master is out at the moment’ and that I should come back later. That doesn’t happen.  
  
After a little while, nobody comes to the door, and not a single sound can be heard from within the house, so I try knocking again, harder this time. Still no response. After a third fourth and fifth try, I give up with the door. As I’m walking back to my car, I’m struck with an even crazier idea than the last.  
  
I walk around the perimeter of the house to check all of the windows, but each one is locked and has the blinds closed. How do I know they’re locked, you ask? I gave them all an experimental tug, of course. Yes, I realize I’m acting borderline stalkerish right now, but it’s for a good cause.  
  
Just when I’m about to give up, an upstairs window catches my eye and I’m struck with one final idea. _If this doesn’t work, I’ll go back to school and pretend this never happened,_ I promise myself. I walk around to the side of the house where the window is and consider my options for climbing up. Some trash cans a few feet away practically call out to me, and I quickly drag them to the space just under the window.  
  
I somehow manage to haphazardly climb on top of one of them, and it wobbles underneath my weight. It doesn’t quite get me as high as I need to be, so I jump down and grab a sturdy looking box that’s laying around outside and stack it on top of the trash can before climbing back up. It doesn’t get me to the window, but it gets me high enough. There’s a ledge sticking out from the side of the house that should be wide enough for me to stand on and use to get to the window.  
  
Combining my small amount of strength with my low body weight, I vault myself up onto the ledge and nearly fall. After wobbling for a moment, I look down and thank my lucky stars that I caught my balance. Craning my neck back up towards the window, I look for a way to open it. It’s already opened just a crack at the bottom, so all I have to do is push it up with one free hand.  
  
Once it’s pushed up, I put my hands on the edge of the windowsill and jump up through the window and into the house, skidding across a carpeted hallway. Once I stand up and gain my bearings, reality hits me like a freight train. _What the fuck am I doing? I just broke into someone’s house. Oh my god, oh my god, I have to leave, I gotta-shit._ I quickly turn back around and move to leave the way I came when a quiet noise catches my attention. I freeze halfway out the window and turn back around slowly, hoping I’ve gone unnoticed.  
  
The sound is a faint sniffling, and I’m not too sure where it’s coming from. Even though sunlight pours through windows all throughout the house, I can tell that all the lights are off except one. Light stretches out from the bottom of a closed door at the furthest end of the hallway, alerting me of another person’s presence. I realize that that must be where the sound is coming from, so I inch ever closer, attempting to make my footsteps as quiet as possible.  
  
As I get closer, the quiet sniffles morph into choked sobs, and I recognize the sounds of someone who is hurting. I feel like I’ve walked in on something I shouldn’t have. This whole ordeal suddenly feels too intimate, too personal, and this is when I realize that I can’t leave. My feet become rooted to this place, and I find myself unable to move.  
  
Some unknown force tugs my hand up to lightly knock on the door, almost as if I’m a puppet being operated by strings. I don’t realize I’m speaking until the words are crossing my lips, and even then it’s too late to stop myself. “H-hello? Anybody in there?” My timid call is met with a metallic clang and a gasp. The person on the other side of the door suddenly stops crying and croaks with a cracking voice, “Who’s there?”  
  
I reach for the door handle while saying, “I think it would be easier if I just came in there, can I come in?” There’s a slam on the door and a sudden weight with a gravelly shout of “No!” I push on the door slightly but it doesn’t budge. I feel my eyebrows draw together in the center of my forehead. “Come on, man. I just wanted to check on you,” I say as gently as I can. “I don’t need anyone to check on me,” he says. “Now get out of my house.” His shaking voice doesn’t have enough power behind it to be commanding, and instead of scaring me off it only makes me feel for him even more. There is a slight pause before he asks a question I hoped he’d never bring up.  
  
“Wait, how the hell did you even get in here? All of the doors are locked.” An awkward chuckle forces its way up from my throat as I bring my hand up to rub the back of my quickly warming neck. “Your uh...your windows aren’t exactly all locked.” I shuffle my feet nervously even though he can’t see me. His reply begins as a thoughtful whisper but then escalates into shocked yelling. “Windows? But all the windows you could even get through are on...wE’RE ON THE _SECOND FLOOR!”_ Another uncomfortable laugh makes its way past my lips before I start word vomiting in my frenzy to explain myself.  
  
“About that...you see, there are like trash cans out there and I stacked a box on top of one to get higher and then there was this _ledge_ and-” “I can’t believe this,” he interrupts. After a short lapse of silence, I ask, “So, can I come in now or…?” His weak voice returns to yelling, and I find the odd gargle that comes out hauntingly familiar. “No, get out! I don’t need your help!” His shouts sound more fearful than intimidating and I am reminded of myself. This moment is when I decide to do something even more ballsy than anything else I’ve done today. Crazier than finding where this guy lives, crazier than ditching school, and most definitely crazier than breaking into his house by climbing in through a second story window.  
  
I decide to stay because I see a little bit of myself in him, and if I can’t save myself, maybe I can save him. It’s an incredibly stupid notion, but as soon as the idea pops up in my head I can’t make it leave. So I plop myself down on the cushy carpet floor and lean against the door before saying, “I don’t have anywhere to be, so I guess I’ll just sit outside your door until you come out of there. You can’t stay in there forever, you know.” He doesn’t dignify me with a response, and I don’t blame him. _I wouldn’t want to talk to a nutjob like me either._  
  
We sit in silence for a number of minutes, and for a while, I don’t think anything is going to happen. All I can do is wait it out, so I rest my head on the door and close my eyes. Shortly after that, muffled noises begin to come from behind me in what I presume to be his bathroom. First some quiet shuffling, then running water interspersed with hisses of...pain? Afterwards there’s a drawer slamming shut and the rustling of clothes. Even as I listen to him move around with my eyes closed, I have no suspicion that he’s coming out, so when he opens the door, it takes me by surprise and I fall backwards onto the tile with a soft “oof.”  
  
When he looks down to see me laying on his floor, there’s a split second where our eyes meet and all of his defenses are down. It’s almost as if he forgets to put on his mask of anger on until after he realizes I’m seeing him in such a vulnerable state. Within an instant, his face contorts into one of fake disgust before he spits, “Why are you still here?” I push myself up off the ground so that we can talk face to face.  
  
I then realize that this is the first time I’ve ever really seen him up close if you don’t count the party. Even then, I didn’t really get a good look at him; it was dark and the whole thing is all a blur anyway. The only part of him I remember seeing is his dark brown eyes, and they hold the same animalistic fear now as they did then. I take a moment now to breathe him in, and instead of being the fresh breath of air I need him to be, he stands before me in a toxic cloud of dark smoke, burning my lungs and choking me.  
  
After noticing the dark circles under his eyes and the tears trailing down his cheeks, I notice that there are tons of freckles scattered across his face. The weakness looks extremely out of place on his sharp features, and I can’t stop myself from staring at the way his large sweater bunches up weirdly at his wrists before swooping low to cover his hands completely. I can’t bring myself to tear my eyes away from him as I piece everything together, and my heart breaks for him as soon as I guess at what he was doing in there. _God, please let me be wrong._  
  
I suddenly remember that he asked me a question and realize that I’ve probably been staring too long when he clears his throat and raises a single pristine eyebrow in confusion. I ponder the question myself and piece together a reply that sounds too stupid to say out loud. “I wanted to make sure you were okay,” I say. “You haven’t been at school all week and I guess I was just a little worried…” I trail off, not really sure what I could say to fix this mess.  
  
The confused look on his face intensifies, most likely because he doesn’t understand why I noticed or why I even care. Nobody else seems to, after all. After the slight crack in his mask, he puts it right back on before crossing his arms and saying, “I just didn’t feel like going.” He can’t even make eye contact with me. All he can do is stare blankly off into the distance and lie, lie, lie. I’m reminded of myself again, and what I say next comes out more harshly than I want it to, almost as if I’m yelling at myself.  
  
“Bullshit, ‘I didn’t feel like going,’”I start. “If you’re gonna lie to me, at least make it convincing.” A look of surprise passes over his face and he stumbles backwards as if I’ve wounded him. I snap out of it and realize what I’ve done, and I move quickly to backtrack. “Oh-I...I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be angry, I just-sorry.” I know I’m projecting my own issues onto him and I need to stop, but I don’t know how. He recrosses his arms and the stoic look returns.  
  
“I don’t want to talk about it.” He stares off as if he’s in another world, not really here interacting with me at all. I wonder if that’s what I look like sometimes - disconnected, tuned out, _empty._ I force the thought away so that at least one of us can be here in the moment. “Okay, that’s all you have to say.” He looks up at me then, completely baffled by my words. It’s almost as if he was expecting me to violently force the words up from his throat. He looks defeated when he asks, “Why do you even care about this so much anyway?” My mind goes blank.  
  
“I…” _I don’t know._ I think he recognizes me in this instant, because he suddenly freaks out and starts apologizing profusely, insisting that it was a dare and that he was just joking around. I feel my eyebrows crease as I say, “That didn’t _feel_ like a joke.” A blush rises to his cheeks, making his freckles disappear. “D-don’t say that shit, it’s weird.” I shrug, and now it’s my turn to stare off and fall into my own thoughts.  
  
“It really didn’t mean anything…” he mutters, barely audible. It’s so faint I’m not sure if he says it or if I’m just imagining it. I know that he didn’t mean anything by it romantically of course, but that kiss was too desperate to be anything but a cry for help. Considering what I just witnessed with the whole bathroom thing, this guy is seriously troubled. I’m not really equipped to help him, but I feel a sense of duty here, and I’m not all too sure why.  
  
“I know it’s none of my business, but really, are you alright?” He just looks at me like I’m an idiot and I realized how stupid of a question that was. “God, I’m so stupid. What am I even doing here? I should just-” “Hey,” he says, putting an end to my rambling. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine, I just...thank you for coming I guess. I’m really sorry for the uh, the ki-the thing. What do you say I give you fifty bucks and you get out of here and forget any of this ever happened?” I’m taken aback by that suggestion.  
  
“W-what? No. Look, I don’t exactly know what’s going on with you, and I know we’ve never talked, and this whole situation is just so messed up and _confusing,_ but I feel really bad seeing someone who looks like they’re in such immense pain. I’ve been there. Hell, I’m _still_ there. Even though we don’t know each other, maybe we could be friends or I could try to help you out or something, I don’t know...just, say something and stop me would you?” His mouth opens and closes like he doesn’t know what to say, and then he just closes his eyes painfully tight and shakes his head.  
  
“Really, man. I want to help. Besides, I’ll worry if I leave you here alone.” After a moment, the brunette brings himself to respond, albeit a little shakily. “I’ll think about it, okay? Being your friend or something, I mean. But I’m sure as hell not going back to school. Wouldn’t catch me dead at that place.” I try to soften my expression as much as possible before saying, “Well, I’ll be at the school, too. If you ever decide to come back, we can be outcasts together.” A hollow chuckle reverberates throughout his broad chest and I swear I hear the faint rattling of his ribs.  
  
I stare at him for a few moments more, perplexed by his image. I wonder how someone in such soft clothing can look so rough around the edges. I also wonder how someone with such a broad, muscular frame can look so small. At this thought, I decide that it’s time for me to leave and make my way down the spiral staircase. I tell Marco to be careful and take care of himself as I go, silently praying that he doesn’t do anything stupid. _Marco...I think that’s the first time I’ve called him that since I got here. I guess after that conversation he’s too real for me to ignore. It’s a bit difficult to pretend someone doesn’t exist when you’ve seen such a real and raw part of them, I suppose._  
  
I hear his footsteps trailing behind me, but I don’t turn back around to look at him until I’m halfway out the doorway when he calls out, “Wait! You never told me your name…” I chuckle lightly and think of Cinderella before telling him, “I’m Jean.” I see him try to roll the French pronunciation over his tongue silently before responding, “I’m M-” “I know,” I say before immediately walking out of the house and closing the door.  
  
_Holy shit, that was wild._ I take a deep breath and look down at my shaking hands, trying desperately to stop the tremors. _‘I know???’ Seriously? That’s so_ stupid. _I can’t believe I said that. I can’t believe I_ did _that._ I mentally chide myself for everything I’ve said and done in the past hour or so as I make my way back towards my car. _This is crazy, I talked to_ him. _Marco, Marco, Marco. He has a name, his name is Marco._  
  
I have to remind myself that he’s a real person with struggles just like me and that he said he’d consider being my friend. _Holy shit, a friend._ The metallic clang from earlier echoes in my mind. _Maybe he’s just as crazy and desperate as I am._ Thoughts of all the possibilities rage in my head as I drive home, not even caring that it’s way too early for me to be getting home from school.


	7. six: fuckening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things just really mess you up.

fuckening

adjective. When something messes you up on another level or (in short) when something is so messed the fuck up that it affects you mentality severely

 

A weird sense of purpose that I haven’t felt in a long time fills me on the drive home, and I find that I don’t crave the radio to drown out my thoughts as I usually do. Don’t get me wrong, the bad thoughts still come, but I really don’t mind them as much when they’re coming in alongside thoughts of the past hour. I know the darkness will return, but for now I can entertain myself with theories of what could possibly come next. I’m setting myself aside just to fixate upon someone else’s issues, and I’m not sure if it’s good or bad that I’m dropping all of my own problems just for this.  
  
It’s not like I’m doing it for him, and I know that. That’s where my darkness comes into play here. I’m not doing any of this to help him, my whole motivation the entire time I was at his house was just selfish association. I’m pretending he’s me so I can try to fix him and have a good thing in my life. _Shit, I’m such an asshole._ As soon as I come to the realization that my cares weren’t even focused on the boy in front of me, I break down and the voices start ripping me to shreds.  
  
_You selfish bastard,_ they say. _You only talked to him because you thought you could gain something out of it. You thought you could be a good person? What a joke. You’re disgusting._ I try to rein them in but everything spirals out of my control within an instant. _God, you’re so pathetic. Projection, really? He’s nothing like you. I bet he doesn’t have voices like you do. I bet he’s not_ crazy _like you are. Nobody is as crazy as you are._  
  
“Leave me alone!” I scream. My voice echoes in the small space of my shitty car and I know people around me are staring because _look at that weird boy he’s talking to himself there’s no one there can he even drive he should be locked up like the animal he is he doesn’t even fucking deserve to_ -breathe. I remind myself to take deep breaths but the more I try to control them the shallower they become.  
  
I know I should pull over, but there’s nowhere to go. I just have to get home. I can lock myself in my room and everything will be fine. _No it won’t, you know that._ Just drive, focus on the lights and the signs, follow the rules of the road, don’t hit any people. _What would be so bad about hitting one? Maybe then they’d take you away and_ -focus, come on, come on. I wonder how someone can go from being so driven and okay to so afraid and confused and- _are those tears? Why can’t I see? Am I laughing or crying? I can’t tell, maybe both?_  
  
My whole body shakes uncontrollably and- _come on just one more block._ Just one more turn- _for the love of god pull yourself together you freak._ When I park, I can’t even see the lines and I might be sideways but- _why is everything spinning?_ I try to get out of my car but end up falling back against the side of it, _hard._ The slam echoes throughout the parking garage and I’m thankful that nobody is around. At least I don’t think they are, everything is so blurry.  
  
As soon as I regain my ability to move without staggering, I scurry across the street and up to the apartment. They key is turned before I can remember to check the time and I’m panting in the kitchen before I realize my mistake. I glance up through my messy bangs and see my dad sitting on the couch, staring at me with a can of beer clutched in his hand. I gulp as I watch his eyes turn red, horns sprouting from his head and his fingers morphing into claws, ripping the can to shreds and spilling beer everywhere- _or is it blood why does it look so much like blood oh god I can’t_ -I blink and the gruesome image returns to a more normal level of horrifying.  
  
“So, the school called me earlier,” he starts. _Were there always three of him?_ “Said you got a detention and that you’re skipping class. I told them, _‘My boy? There’s no way that loser had the guts to leave. He really does care about his education, he’d never do that.’_ I guess I was wrong. You mind tellin’ me why the hell you’re standing here in my kitchen lookin’ a mess at 2:09 in the afternoon?” My shaky grip on the counter tightens.  
  
“Uh…” I’m barely capable of keeping myself upright, so of course I can’t really respond at the moment. “Go on,” he mocks. “Lie to me like you always do, and _at least try to make it believable this time.”_ I blanch as I remember using similar phrasing while talking to Marco earlier. I try so hard to reach my room, _just a few feet down the hall that’s it come on,_ but my legs are too weak and I end up stumbling when I lose my grip on the countertop. After I fall on the ground, I open my eyes to see his feet just inches away from my face. I trail my eyes slowly up his legs and gulp when I see the scowl he greets me with.  
  
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks with malice. Again, I can’t make any words come out of my mouth, no matter how hard I try. He squats down to my level and I try to hide the fact that I gulp in fear of his proximity. “You just ignorin’ me now?” he slurs, the stench of beer on his breath slapping me in the face. He fists his hand in the collar of my shirt and pulls me up a bit, my head lolling to the side. “Come on, pretty boy, aren’t you gonna say something?” I wince at the nickname and close my eyes tightly, wishing for this to just be a dream.  
  
“I wonder what you would do if I just-” his fist collides with my cheekbone with a bruising amount of force. “-did that.” He tosses me down onto the floor after hitting me once more, deciding that isn’t fun enough. “Nothing? Really?” He kicks me in the stomach for good measure. “Are you serious? You’re not even gonna defend yourself? This isn’t the way I raised you. You’re pathetic.” His voice rises with every word.  
  
He stands and grabs a nearby lamp in his hand. _God, no, he wouldn’t._ He raises it higher and higher until it’s way above his head. “Come on, you worthless piece of shit, do something!” he screams. The only movement I’m capable of is covering my face with my arms and curling up to protect any vital organs. Everything is shaking _God, please don’t let him do it. He won’t, he’s bluffing he’s bluffing._  
  
I hear the crash before I feel the impact. Everything happens so fast and I’m not even sure what’s going on until a few moments later. He’s yelling and there’s a lot of blood- _too much blood_ -and I think he threw the lamp- _good god he threw the lamp_ -and my ears are ringing _am I dead? God, I wish._ “You’re disgusting, your mother would be so sick and disappointed if she could see you right now.” _I know._ The calm statement is more hurtful than any shout could ever be.  
  
I’m not too sure when he decides he’s berated me enough, but at some point I look up and notice he’s gone. My entire body is shaking, but I push myself up into a sitting position as best I can. I look down to see that my blood is everywhere - all over my arms, my clothes, the floor. I can’t tell where more of the lamp’s shards lie, in my arms or on the ground. It’s been a while since he’s gotten this bad, and I internally scold myself for getting so sloppy.  
  
_If only I’d have been more careful. This could have been avoided if I was just a good son. He’ll leave me alone if I’m respectful and stay out of his way._ I’d almost forgotten the rules of his house, and I needed to be reminded. I know it’s not right, but if I want to survive, I have to do what he says. There’s no other way.  
  
I force myself up off the ground and manage to hobble my way into my room. I accidentally smudge blood all over the white door trying to get in and remind myself to clean it later. My shaking hands scramble for the first aid kit. I fumble around blindly for the large box for a few minutes before realizing that I moved it to a new spot under my desk. As soon as I can find it, I carry it off into my bathroom and get to work.  
  
I flip the switch to provide myself light and cringe at the trace of blood that’s left on everything I touch. I try to quickly wash my hands, but as soon as they’re clean, more blood drips back down onto them. Giving up on clean hands, I grab the tweezers and start carefully pulling all the tiny pieces of glass out of my arms. I have to bite down on my shirt to keep myself from making too much noise. As soon as all of the shards have been pulled out of my arms, I try to stop the bleeding by applying pressure, but there’s too many cuts to try and stop all of them at the same time.  
  
Once the bleeding has at least slowed, I clean all of the wounds with water first and then with antiseptic. When I pour the bottle down my arms, a low hiss of pain escapes from between my teeth. After drying off my arms, I apply a small glob of Neosporin to every cut, nearly using the entire tube. I do a once over to make sure none of the cuts need stitching, but it’s a bit difficult to tell at the moment. Upon further inspection, however, I notice that my hands also have cuts on them so I have to repeat the process.  
  
Once the cuts all over my hands are cleaned, I cover the larger cuts with gauze and wrap both of my arms tightly from palms to the top of my biceps in bandages. Some of the cuts are already bleeding through, but hopefully the constant pressure will stop the bleeding while I sleep. I’ll have to change the dressings in the morning anyway.  
  
I pack up the first aid kit and stumble back into my room, slightly lightheaded. I could go back out into the kitchen and grab a glass of water, but that would require seeing the blood again and I’m not sure I’m up to facing the carnage right now. Instead, I put my clothes in a plastic bag to make sure they don’t stain anything else and plop down into bed.  
  
As I stare up at the ceiling, I wonder what my Maman would think of me and pray for her forgiveness. I reach up to touch the ring hanging around my neck and am thankful for the cool relief it gives the stinging in my hand. I think it’s night now, but I’m not really sure. Exhausted from the wild day I’ve had, I fall asleep surprisingly quickly. This night brings a different kind of dream. No visions of my past, only haunting images that take pieces of my soul with them as I sleep. 

_My eyes open to a wide expanse of nothingness, and by nothingness I literally mean that there is nothing here. An endless span of darkness that I can hardly see through. I try walking around a bit, but nothing changes. It feels like I’ve been walking ages but it’s as if I haven’t moved an inch._  
  
_“Hello? Is anybody here?” I call. “I’m lost, can anyone hear me?” The only response I receive is the echoing of my own timid voice. I walk some more, still unable to find anything. Suddenly, a light emerges from the darkness, a figure. Is that...Maman? I take a few tentative steps in that direction and upon closer inspection realize that it’s her. She’s here! I reach out my hand and give a joyful shout, “Maman! Maman, it’s me, Jean!”_  
  
_She turns to look at me over her shoulder and I start running at her excitedly. “Maman, I’m so glad to see you!” As I run, I extend my arms for a hug, but as I get closer, I realize that she isn’t doing the same, and I falter. My steps slow and my face falls. “M-maman?” She doesn’t say a word, she only stares at me blankly. Why isn’t she happy to see me?_  
  
_I try to put my hand on her shoulder, but she swats me away. It stings more than it should. “Maman? What’s wrong?” She frowns deeply, and I wonder if it’s because of something I’ve done. “I-is everything alright?” I stutter. She shakes her head. “Don’t talk.” I raise my eyebrows in questioning but keep my mouth shut._  
  
_“I’m disappointed in you,” she says, arms crossed. Something inside of me fractures. “What happened to my little soldier boy? I said you were strong, now look at you. I can’t stand the sight of you. You used to fight for your happiness. If anyone challenged you, you’d defend yourself honorably. Not with your fists, but with your heart. You spread kindness and love everywhere you went; you used to stand for something. What do you have now?”_  
  
_Something catches in my throat when I try to speak, so the only noise that comes out is a choked cry. I look in her eyes to see any traces of the warmth she usually radiates, but there is no sign of anything, nonetheless a shred of hope for me to cling to. I feel the tears welling up but I have to stop them, I have to show her that I’m strong. I fail._  
  
_“Maman, p-please.” My blubbering pleas echo in this hollow world, and I hate it. Her defenses only go up higher and this causes me to crash. I fall to my knees and fist my hands in the hem of her dress. “Maman, I can do better, I promise. I’m your precious son, your little monster, right? I can do it, I can. I’m your son, I’m your son…” My voice trails off and transforms into incomprehensible sobs._  
  
_“Not anymore you’re not,” she says. “No son of mine is weak and pathetic like this. You’re not the Jean I know, you’re not the Jean I love.” My breath hitches and I look up from my tears staining her dress to her looking at me as if I’m garbage, nothing. I beg her once more with my eyes, but she just shoos me away, as if I’m a bother._  
  
_As I’m begging her to forgive me, a clawed hand clamps down around my ankle. I frantically look down to see the mangled fingers tearing through my jeans and ripping into the flesh of my leg. Another hand grasps my shoulder, its long, gnarled talons stabbing into my chest and through my heart. Suddenly the hands are all over me, pulling and sinking their claws into any and every part of me they can reach. I thrash as they try to drag me away, screaming, “Maman! Maman, help me!” It comes out as more of an odd sounding gargle with the fingers clasped around my neck._  
  
_She just looks me dead in the eyes and says, “I don’t know you.” Then, she walks off in the opposite direction, completely stoic and calm. I scream as loud as I can, all vocabulary now lost. I scream and scream until my throat is completely shot, the sounds coming out hoarse and scratchy. The screams rip through my throat, but she doesn’t even flinch. No matter how much I cry kick and scream, she doesn’t care._  
  
_She hates me._

I shoot up in my bed, gasping for air. I’m drenched in sweat and my entire body is shaking. My eyes are extremely out of focus and everything looks hazy, even in what appears to be the morning light. My throat really hurts, and I sincerely hope that doesn’t mean I was actually screaming while I slept.  
  
I bring a hand up to clutch my aching head and feel a loose bandage tickling my face, reminding me of what happened yesterday. _I can’t stay here this weekend, he needs to cool off._ I push myself out of bed and reach for my phone, dialing up Reiner’s number. As it rings, I reach for the first aid kit and start rewrapping my arms. When he picks up, I hear the tinny background noise of a tv and Bert laughing. But most importantly, I hear Reiner’s booming voice in front of it all.  
  
“Hey, Jean. What’s up?” he says with a chipper tone in his voice. “Hey,” I croak, my voice nearly gone. It’s only at the sound that I realize I’ve been crying and find the sense to wipe the tears from my face. Reiner lets out a slight gasp on the other end of the phone. “Oh my god. Bert, turn that down. It’s Jean.” I can tell by the muffled sound that he’s got his hand over the speaker, but it doesn’t quite work the way he wants it to and I hear him and Bert’s hushed voices on the other end of the line as they talk about me for a moment.  
  
“Jean, is everything okay?” He’s gone from elated to devastated in a span of a millisecond. His voice drips with worry when he speaks. Mine, on the other hand, drips with weakness and it makes me sick. “Can I, uh, stay at your house this weekend?” I imagine his eyebrows drawing together with concern as he speaks. “Yeah, of course. God, anytime.” There’s a span of silence before he starts to ask, “Do you want to ta-” “No,” I interrupt, not even willing to let him finish the sentence. I know what he was gonna say, and I don’t like it.  
  
“Okay.” Even while stressed, he still sounds firm and confident. “Are you driving over here or do you want me and Bert to pick you up?” I consider my options. I’d much rather drive myself, but after yesterday’s episode, I don’t think it’s a very good idea. I choose the much more embarrassing option and ask him to pick me up. Shame floods me when I speak the words, “C-could you?”  
  
He tenderly responds with, “Of course, that’s why I offered. See you in a bit, Jean.” Before he can hang up, I try to get some last words in. “Oh, and Reiner?” “Yeah?” “Thanks” I can practically hear his soft smile over the phone. “No problem. You’re welcome anytime, remember that.” He hangs up before I have the chance to say anything more.  
  
With my arms freshly wrapped and taken care of, I start packing a small bag for the weekend. I just grab the bare essentials and throw them into a small drawstring; I don’t have the time or energy to do anything else. I jump into some clean clothes and pray that Reiner gets here quickly. I know it’s most likely that my dad is either still asleep or too hungover to move, but I don’t want to risk being here longer than I have to. When my phone buzzes alerting me that Reiner is outside, I can’t move fast enough. Passing the gap on the counter where the old lamp used to sit makes me pick at my bandages nervously.  
  
As I scurry through the kitchen to get to the door, I cringe in memory of the mess I forgot to clean up. I chance a glance downward and freeze when I see the pool of my own dried blood staining the tile. My pulse races, but I know I have to get out of here. I shake it off without really forgetting and rush outside.  
  
When I see Reiner’s car, a rush of weird energy flows through me. Getting out of here feels immensely freeing, even if it’s only going to be for a few days. I plop myself down into the backseat unceremoniously and only realize how shitty I must look when I notice the stares.  
  
Reiner’s golden eyes burn with worry, and Bert’s own pale green one reveal a similar emotion. I’d forgotten about my pain in my rush to leave, but the dull throbbing returns to the discolored spots on my body as they analyze them. I look down and come to the conclusion that the bruises must have darkened overnight.  
  
“Can we just go?” I ask halfheartedly, my previous energy depleted. I can’t look them in they eyes, their gazes are too intense and for some reason they burn. Bert turns around and sits correctly in his seat again, but Reiner is reluctant. I still feel his gaze boring into me. “Alright,” he finally says. He then turns around and plants his hands firmly on the steering wheel. When I look up to the front as Reiner starts the car, I notice three things.  
  
1\. Reiner is not as calm and collected as I initially thought him to be. He grips the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles are turning white.  
  
2\. Bert always knows exactly what’s going on in Reiner’s head, and he worries more than enough for the both of them. He shoots Reiner a nervous glance from the corner of his eye, but it is not returned.  
  
3\. The two of them are so in sync that it kills me. Their silent conversations make me think of meadows and flowers and braids and I force myself to swallow the thought. Like with the blood, it doesn’t really go away.  
  
The whole drive is silent. I keep thinking that they’ll say something in hopes of cheering me up, but they never do. They just have their own silent conversation in the rearview mirror and leave me to fend for myself in the back. It isn’t even a companionable silence, it just makes me feel lonely. In this silence, I’m given a few minutes to think, and that’s never good. My mind goes racing through not only the events of last night, but the events of all the nights similar to it.  
  
I think I get too lost in my own head because when Reiner brakes in his driveway, it startles me so bad that I flinch and cower for a moment. They both stare at me again and the looks in their eyes make my blood run cold. When we walk inside, Reiner and Bert star heading to Reiner’s room, but I don’t follow. Instead, I set my bag down on the couch and follow it down soon after. When they notice I’m not behind them, they turn around and look at me curiously.  
  
“You not coming?” Reiner asks with furrowed brows. I shrug and a bone in my back cracks loudly. I try to act like it doesn’t scare me but I think I fail. “Nah, I’m just gonna stay out here and...try to calm down I guess.” I pull my little leather book out of my bag and grab a pen. “Okay,” he responds hesitantly. “Feel better, Jean,” Bert adds before they both walk away.  
  
I’m alone again, and I don’t know whether I feel at peace or on edge. I’ve been feeling this way a lot lately. Like I’m there but I’m not, suspended in midair, waiting in suspense for the world to drop me. I try to work on some guitar tabs and arrangements for Petra’s class as best I can, but some doodles manage to weasel their way into my work and eventually I get extremely off task. I get a little bit of work done, but my mind drifts off into nowhere and my focus fades.  
  
I must sit out for hours, because eventually Reiner and Bert come out to ask me if I want to go to not lunch, but dinner with them. I must have missed that. If they came out here for food earlier, I didn’t notice. I politely decline and tell them I’ll eat whatever they have leftover or something. I’m not even that hungry anyway.  
  
When they get back, they ask if I want to play video games and I tell them no. The entire weekend goes this way. Them asking me to do stuff, and me remaining on the couch in relative silence. All I do is loaf around and stare into space. The memories are getting to me again. So much has happened in the past few weeks and I’m just so _exhausted._  
  
All I know is that I’m thankful for Reiner and Bert this weekend. They give me a place to stay, they try to help me to the best of their ability, they make sure that I remember to eat at least something every day, and most importantly, they don’t ask questions. They don’t ask why I don’t want to do stuff, and they don’t ask where all of my bruises and cuts came from. They don’t ask why I don’t notice them when they enter a room right away. They don’t ask why I still want to go back home after this.  
  
When I do have to go back home Sunday night, I enter the apartment quietly and rush to my room with a mumbled, “sorry sir” in my dad’s general direction. He thankfully accepts the apology with a grunt, and I’m glad I don’t have to grovel. His logic of when he allows me to be gone for long periods of time is a bit skewed, but I’m not gonna complain. Maybe he struggles with the passing of time like I do. That night, I drift off into a dreamless sleep, and for that I am truly grateful.  
  
The next morning, I make sure to re-wrap my arms tightly and check on the rest of the bruises to see how they’re healing up. Some of the worse ones are still angry purple shapes, but most have faded to ugly yellow marks blotched across my skin. The cuts, on the other hand, are not making very much progress. To cover myself even further, I put on my big leather jacket in hopes of covering the bandages surrounding my arms and hands.  
  
Before I leave, I give myself a quick once over in the mirror and end up hating what I see. _I look like shit._ My hair is a tangled mess from running my hands through it constantly, I’m way too skinny, and my black eye from the fall only serves to make my dark circles look a million times worse than usual. Only one of those things can really be solved for the day. I sigh and make my way to school a bit early, heading to Petra’s classroom to get what I need.  
  
As soon as I walk into her room, she abruptly stands from her desk and fast-walks over to me, her chair clattering to the floor. “God, Jean,” she breathes, fingers creeping up to ghost over the discolored patch of skin around my eye socket. Her touch trails down my brow and across my cheekbone. The hand that isn’t analyzing the bruise clutches my shoulder, no doubt out of worry. She touches a particularly tender spot on my face and I hiss.  
  
“Can you just cover it up, please?” I ask, not wanting her to mess with it anymore than she has to. She pulls back but never takes her eyes off of the mess that is my face. “Y-yeah, sorry.” She walks over to her desk and snatches a compact out of her purse before bringing it back over to me and asking me to sit down. She draws her brows down as she works, muttering, “I can’t believe that asshole did this. I should just march right over there and-”  
  
“Petra,” I warn. She sighs. “Sorry, sorry. I just don’t see why you stay with him anymore.” I roll my eyes.  
  
“You _know_ why, Petra.” It’s her turn to roll her eyes. “Will you at least report it? For me?” Her eyes plead for me to do it but this is one thing I can’t do for her. “I’m sorry, Petra. I just can’t do that.” She pulls the sponge away from my face for a moment and throws her hands in the air. “Why not? After all that man has put you through, you have every reason to.” I look down at the floor, thinking. “He’s been through a lot, too, you know…” I mutter, not too sure why I choose now to have sympathy for him.  
  
“Oh, _please._ He’s made his decisions, and you’ve made yours. You didn’t let your past make you into a bad man.” _Are you sure?_ I look up at her then. “It’s just a few more months, I can do it. I just have to make it until graduation and then I can get out. I can go wherever I want. I’ll be _free.”_ She sighs and puts the makeup sponge down, giving up on covering the bruise altogether.  
  
“Please just stay at my place or something. At least there I know you’ll be safe.” I stare into her eyes. A tiny flare of hope flickers within them. _God, I want to. I really, really want to._ “I-I’m sorry, Petra. I _can’t.”_ The flicker dies. “Okay, okay. I’ll stop asking. Just try to keep yourself out of trouble, okay?” I nod. “Okay,” I say. “You promise?” she asks. “I promise,” I say, hand over my heart.  
  
“Good, now let’s get you covered up.” Her light prodding stings a bit but I have to tolerate it if I want to keep whatever shards of pride I have left at school today. Once she’s done, she pulls back and smiles softly, admiring her work. “All done,” she says. “Have a good day at school, kiddo. I’ll see you later.” I nod as she gives me a gentle pat on the back. As I walk out the doorway, I give her a quiet “thanks” and light wave over my shoulder. The half-smile she gives me in return haunts me, and I’m left thinking about it all day. I guess I never really realized that it’s gotta be hard on her, too.  
  
As I go through my day, I take notes without really comprehending the letters I copy. I listen to lectures without really hearing the words uttered from my teachers’ lips. Everything I see and hear is like a foggy, distant echo, and I find that by the time I’m in Petra’s classroom again, I’m not too sure how I got back here. I shrug and shake it off, sitting down in one of the few chairs in the small, cluttered room.  
  
As soon as the dozen or so people in the class are seated, Petra stands from her chair and strolls up to the front of the room. “Good afternoon, everyone. How are you?” Dispersed mutters of “Fine, thank you,” and “Great, how are you?” float through the air. I choose to say nothing. “That’s good,” Petra says. “I’m glad you’re all doing well. How about we make some music, shall we?” Everyone nods enthusiastically.  
  
“Alright, usual setup. Everyone is welcome to work on their independent study projects as they see fit. This is an all year long project, so remember, be sure to take on a challenge, but don’t bite off more than you can chew, either. You can make whatever you want, so long as you feel it helps you grow as a musician as well as a person. Alright, my lovelies, go forth and create!” People get up to grab the equipment they need and talk amicably amongst themselves; I remain silent as I grab my gear and head off to seclude myself in a practice room.  
  
_Ah, the one class I feel like I can be myself in._ This is the one class I get to just relax and be at peace in. Music has always helped me cope with things, and I think it’s really amazing that I get to come here and play music every day. That said, having to do a big project on it is a bit stressful. I like playing music for me, not for some numbers on a page. I know Petra’s not like that with her grading, though, so I shouldn’t be too worried.  
  
The only thing I’m really worried about is challenging myself. Initially, I was going to do an album of drum covers because drumming is my favorite and I’ve been doing it the longest. I know how to sing and play other instruments, but I’m not as confident with my abilities in those areas as I am with drumming. Drumming is just something that I can get really wrapped up in, it’s really comforting for me to be able to just escape from everything and drum.  
  
Drumming isn’t as simple as it may seem; it involves your whole body. It’s just a really great experience. Anyway, like I said, the plan was an album of drum covers, but since it’s my senior year, Petra really wants me to challenge myself. So now, I’ve decided to do an album of full covers in which I do everything myself, including the tracks and vocals. I don’t think I’ll write anything new for it, but arranging, recording, and mixing is still a lot of work, especially for multiple instruments. It’s a large task, but I’m sure I can do it. I’ll just pick songs that represent how I’m feeling at the time over the course of the year and see where it takes me. It’ll be like a story that documents my journey.  
  
It’s kind of a stupid and cheesy idea, but I like it. Since I’ve been arranging and recording some background tracks for a few days, I figure that I should record some vocals so that I have all the stuff I need to at least edit a few songs together. My voice is a bit raw right now, but I think that should be okay for the sound of the first few songs on the album. I’m not having the best time, and I think the album should reflect that. I don’t want it to seem fake, so it’s really important that I capture my best as well as my worst emotions on there.  
  
Just as I finish setting up the mic. Petra knocks on the glass door and slides inside the small room. “Hey,” I say, looking up from my work. “Hey,” she replies with a smile. “Just going around and checking on everyone. What are you working on?” I explain my thought process to her and she nods. “Okay, well I’ll let you get to work. Good luck.” She moves to leave and I thank her as she exits. The thank you is for more than just the musical direction she provides.  
  
I try not to be self conscious about my voice, but it’s a bit difficult seeing as I’m riddled with social anxiety, self-image issues, and the like. I just try to sing and let myself drift away. Before I know it, school is over and I’m cleaning up. By the time I return to Petra’s classroom with the equipment, all of the other students are already gone. After the mic is put away, I turn to leave but Petra stops me.  
  
“Remember what I said about being careful, Jean. I mean it. If you come in here looking like that again I’ll take care of business myself, you hear me?” I sigh. “Yes ma’am. Goodbye, Petra.” She tells me to have a nice day and I reciprocate the sentiment. I walk out to my car and sit there for a while, taking a deep breath and considering my options. For the first time in a few days, Marco pops into my head.  
  
After what happened with my dad, I’d completely forgotten about him. I’d said I’d go see him again, didn’t I? Oh, I don’t remember. _Fuck it, I’m just gonna drive over there._ Remembering every turn, I drive to Marco’s house on impulse.


	8. seven: friends with liabilities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friendship can happen in places you least expect...even if that means with some guy who sloppily made out with you whilst drunk at a party you didn't even want to be at.

friends with liabilities

noun. the opposite of friends with benefits; people that cause each other emotional or mental distress whenever they hang out, sometimes intentional, sometimes not 

 

The neighborhood is silent. No barking dogs, no neighbors mowing their lawns and calling out friendly hellos, not even a single set of running sprinklers. Nothing. The silence echoes and magnifies the static in my brain. The towering mansions make me feel like a tiny ant in their presence, and I pull my jacket tighter around myself as I exit my car. I crane my neck and stare up at Marco’s house, and although it doesn’t compare to the massive skyscrapers in downtown, it makes me feel microscopic, invisible even.  
  
I attempt to brush off the feeling and glance at the front door. I could try getting in through there, but there’s no guarantee he’ll even answer it. I decide to look for another window that is possibly easier to access and that is also located closer to where I want to go. As I tiptoe around the corner of the house, I spot a window protruding from an angled part of the roof near the fence to the backyard. It’s less risky than the route I took before, and I’m pretty sure it leads to his bedroom. _God, I can’t believe I’m doing this again._  
  
After some maneuvering, I’m on the roof and shuffling towards the window. With a gentle nudge, I discover that the window is unlocked and push it open. When I crawl inside the house, I land on a cushy window seat and look around to see shelves stacked full of trophies and medals. The shelves are immaculate, awards still sparkling as if they’d just been won. The floor, on the other hand, is a complete disaster. Clothes, empty pizza boxes, food wrappers, and more are piled so high that you can barely see if anything lies underneath. And amidst it all, laying on top of his unmade bed and staring up at the ceiling blankly, is Marco. He’s lying on his back and he doesn’t even flinch when I come in. He seems to be unaware of my presence.  
  
When I step closer, I realize that he has dark circles to rival mine and that his hair, if possible, is messier than his floor. His eyes are bloodshot, and I’d hate to take a guess at why. Instead of interrogating him, I opt for a simple, “Hey.” Something in his clouded eyes flickers, and his motionless form is brought back to life with a start. As soon as he turns his head to see me, he shoots up into a sitting position with a startled yelp.  
  
“Jean, what are you doing here? I didn’t expect to um...I didn’t expect for you to come back here.” He brings his knees in towards his chest as he speaks, curling his forearms inwards before wrapping them around himself protectively. I glance downwards at the way he hides himself from me, and then glance back upwards to see that he thinks he’s fooling me.  
  
“I...I said I’d be around, didn’t I?” I say, cautiously stepping closer to the seemingly tiny, trembling creature in front of me. He nods shakily. “Yeah, I guess,” he says, looking anywhere but at me. He raises a hand to rub lightly at the nape of his neck, and I catch a glimpse of angry red marks against his skin. He catches my gaze and snaps his arm back down, knowing that I’ve seen. All I can do is raise my eyebrows in questioning. I know this is something he won’t want to talk about, but it’s too late - I already know.  
  
I don’t have to say a word. He looks down at the floor again. “It’s nothing,” he murmurs. I give him a knowing and concerned look, hoping he sees it. “It’s nothing, okay? I swear,” he insists weakly. I draw my eyebrows downward and do something I probably shouldn’t. I reach for his arm and give it a gentle tug, turning it over. Even though I knew what I was going to see there, the proof of my theory still takes the breath out of my lungs. Marco looks up at me then. The animalistic fear his dark eyes held on the night of the party has returned full force, pushing me back and loosening my grip.  
  
When I let go, he pulls away from me and scoots back on the bed, clutching the spot on his arm I was just holding a moment ago. He rubs it gently with his thumb as if it had burned when I touched him, like he was trying to make the pain go away. I speak with the quietest voice I can muster, “I’m sorry, can I just - will you let me see?” He shakes his head and scoots back further. “Please,” I beg, reaching out towards him again. My hand hovers an inch above his arm, shaking out of nerves.  
  
He curls into himself more and ducks his head down in shame. I take hold of his wrist as gently as possible and turn it over. He doesn’t fight me this time. He only winces and turns his head away sharply. I look down to inspect the damage. A batch of relatively new cuts stands out against a backdrop of layers upon layers of what I assume to be years-old faded scars.  
  
“I…” I start, not too sure where I’m going with it. Marco tries to steer the conversation away from himself when he says, “That’s nothing. Come on, let’s just...let’s just leave that alone.” I know I should listen to him and that what I’m doing is wrong, but I can’t stop. “Please just drop it. They don’t mean anything. They’re nothing, it’s nothing.” He takes a deep, shaky breath in an attempt to steady himself.  
  
“I, um, I can clean these up for you a bit. You know, if you want…” He shakes his head again, still not looking at me. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” he whispers. “They could get infected,” I reply, just as quietly. That, and the only other thing I know to do is ask why he’s hurting and why he did it, but I know I can’t do that. I would only bring him more pain than I already have.  
  
“Come on, where’s your first aid kit?” I ask gently, not giving him a choice. “Kitchen,” he says halfheartedly, pulling his arm away from me and getting up. I hadn’t realized I was still holding it. With confidence I didn’t know I had, I take his arm back and lead him downstairs, dragging him behind me until I find the kitchen.  
  
When we reach our destination, I let go of his arm and pat the center island, gesturing for him to sit there and wait. He stares at me incredulously, silently asking if I’m joking, and when he realizes I’m not, he pulls himself up onto it and watches me rifle around in his cabinets in relative silence. Once he sees I’m not getting anywhere, he gives a quiet, “to your left” and sure enough, the first aid kit is in the cabinet to my left. I pull it out and take it back over to where he is.  
  
I try to imitate Petra and put on the most calming tone I can. It probably comes out as more awkward and unnatural than soothing. I lay out the supplies I’ll need on the countertop next to him and reach out my arm as a silent invitation, asking for permission this time instead of mindlessly grabbing for him. He stares at it for a moment, knowing what I’m asking but not sure if he’s okay with it. He hesitantly gives me his right arm, wrist up, and I give him what I hope is an encouraging smile.  
  
I reach for the bottle of hydrogen peroxide and mumble an apology when his muscles tense in pain. I become very focused on my work and fall into silence as the minutes pass by. When I finish with his right arm and switch over to his left, Marco asks me how I know how to take care of this kind of stuff.  
  
“I just have experience.” I say thoughtfully, not looking up from my task. “I’ve just had to do it before, that’s all.” He hums in understanding. As my nervous energy rises from the near exposing of my secret, he reaches for my face and says, “Hey, wait, your eye…” _Shit, the makeup must be coming off._ I quickly turn that side of my face down and away from him without a word, only pausing my work for a moment. I clean and dress the rest of the cuts running down his forearms and step back, looking him in the eye for the first time in a while.  
  
“Are there any more?” I ask. His leg twitches. “N-no. That’s all,” he says too quickly. “Marco, if there are any more, I need you to tell me. You don’t want these to get infected, trust me.” His lips curl downward sourly. “Well, there are some on my thighs, but I’m fine. You’ve done enough, really. You don’t need to do anything else for me.” I sigh. “I’m sorry, but they need to be cleaned up. They’ll be even worse if they get infected. I’d say you can clean them later, but I don’t know if I trust you to do it.” He opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out except a puff of air.  
  
“Fine,” he says. “Just be quick.” He pulls up his shorts to reveal more aggressive slices through the myriad of freckles on his tan skin. I shudder. There’s only a second’s pause before I settle into the task at hand. I try not to pay attention to the way he winces when I touch him, the way he grips the counter too tightly, painting his knuckles white, the way he stares off into nowhere and chokes over nothing. I try to ignore how much pain the boy sitting in front of me is really going through. Looking at him is like looking in a muscular, freckled mirror, and it hurts too much to admit.  
  
When I’m done, he pulls his pantlegs back down and crosses his arms. His stomach rumbles, and his eyes widen a fraction. “Have you eaten today?” I ask. He shakes his head. I start to pull my phone out of my pocket and say, “I’m ordering a pizza.” Marco jumps off of the counter and puts his hands out, pleading, “Wait, no. You don’t have to do that. That’s not necessary.” I hold the phone to my shoulder while it’s ringing and roll my eyes. “Yes, I do have to do this. You need a pizza,” I respond, pointing an accusing finger at his chest. Marco simply stands there and stares while I order us a pepperoni pizza from Maria’s.  
  
“You really didn’t have to do that,” he says when I hang up. “Of course I did. We _are_ friends now, right? And friends get each other pizza.” He shrugs. “Uh...right.” He seems unsure about the whole situation, and although I’m hesitant too, I’m trying to hide it. He stares at me for a moment, considering me as if he has no idea what to do with me.  
  
“Come on,” he says suddenly, grabbing my wrist and dragging me out of the room. “Where are we going?” I ask. “The living room. You don’t want to wait for the pizza in here, do you?” I chuckle lightly. “I suppose not.”  
  
We enter a sprawling, carpeted room with large couches and a tv taking up nearly an entire wall. I let out a low whistle. “Holy shit, man. This place is awesome. He looks around the room, puzzled, as if having this many nice, expensive things is commonplace for the average American. “I guess it is, I’ve never really had anything less, so…” He shrugs as he trails off. I stare at him, slack-jawed. “Oh, thanks, I mean. Sorry, I’m not too used to this whole having friends thing.”  
  
This has me even more confused. “What? But aren’t you like, Mr. Popular back at school or something? From what my friends said, you’re a huge deal, people can’t get enough of you.” He frowns and mutters, “I was, at least.” I frown too. “They weren’t real friends anyway,” he continues. “I always kept everyone at an arm’s length. I didn’t want anyone to get too close and find out the truth about me. I couldn’t risk it.” I’m taken aback by this.  
  
“Wait, so you’re telling me that you’ve gone all of these years without anyone to talk to or even hang around with?” He throws himself down onto the couch and sighs. “Yep. Since I was around seven or eight at least.” I’m baffled. “There’s no way I could have gone that long without anyone. God, without my friends I don’t know if I would have even _made it_ -er, I mean…” I trail off, regretting the words that I had let slip. I sit down too quickly and too rigidly on the couch, not sure what to say. We lapse into an awkward silence, both looking around at anything in the room but each other.  
  
“You know, those cuts...I got those by accident. I um...fell through a window,” he says after a while, breaking the silence. I turn to him and try not to look condescending while still looking disbelieving. “I did, I swear. I’m just a huge clutz, nothing to worry about.” An embarrassed blush rises to his cheeks and an awkward, humorless chuckle escapes his throat. He knows that I’m not buying any of it.  
  
“We both know that’s not true,” I say. _Shit, too rough sounding._ “But we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” I add nervously. A hollow laugh reverberates through his chest, and all I can do is stare. “You probably think I’m just some pathetic phony, huh?” he starts, bottom lip trembling.  
  
“Just some star athlete rich kid who has everything and cuts himself for attention, right? What a joke.” I tilt my head and look him directly in the eye. “I...I don’t think that at all, actually.” _It’s just the opposite._ “I know that there’s always so much more to a person than what they let others see on the outside.” _I know what it’s like to hide everything you hate about yourself from those you love._ “People are all different and vastly complicated, and besides, it’s impossible for me to know you and what you’re thinking. I hardly know you at all. Things aren’t always what they seem, either, and I know that.”  
  
It’s now that I notice how far away from each other we are on the couch, how distanced we are from each other in thought. He stares at me like I’m too far away, like I’m from another planet. He slowly opens his mouth to speak but is interrupted by the doorbell ringing.  
  
I quickly rise from the couch and find the front door, calling, “Be right back,” as I go. I slip the delivery girl some cash and take the pizza from her hands quickly, mumbling a thank you as I close the door with my foot. When I return to the living room, Marco doesn’t look quite as hollow as when I left him sitting there only moments ago.  
  
I lay the pizza box out on the small glass table in front of the couches and open it, offering up the first slice to my solemn companion. He takes it gratefully and eats it without a word. I follow suit. The pizza goes quickly, and when he offers me the last slice, I politely decline. “No thanks, I really shouldn’t.” Marco quirks a single brow. “You sure?” he asks. “Yeah, I’m sure.” I say. “Go ahead.” He stares at me for a moment longer before shrugging and taking the slice.  
  
Since I figure I might be here a while, I stand up from the couch and shrug my jacket off of my shoulders, freezing mid-movement when I see Marco staring at me. “What?” I say, staring right back. He doesn’t say a word, but his eyes flick down towards my arms for a moment. _Shit, I forgot about the bandages._ The voices scream at me to put the jacket back on and run, but I know it’s too late to turn back and that he’s already seen. I continue to take off my jacket slowly, turning around and gently laying it on the couch, not once breaking eye contact with Marco. _Twinning,_ one of the cruel monsters in my head guffaws.  
  
“W-what-” His voice cracks and he has to clear his throat. “What are those for?” he asks hesitantly, gesturing towards the bandages covering my arms from palm to shoulder. _Lie, dodge the question, change the subject. Do something, anything._ My heart races as memories of the incident flash behind my eyes. “D-dad…” I murmur, more in remembrance than in response. “What?” Marco asks in confusion. “He-he’s angry…” I whisper.  
  
I’m not in Marco’s living room anymore. I’m in the kitchen at the apartment, staring at a pool of my own blood flowing towards me and drenching my sneakers. A sense of panic rises within me and _I need to run,_ but I’m paralyzed. I fall and the couch catches me, forcing me to remember where I am. I blink my eyes hard to make the vision go away. When I turn back to Marco, he looks insanely worried, and the knot in my stomach tightens. _Fuck, I’m too exposed, I can’t do this._  
  
Before Marco can ask any more questions, I grab the remote and turn on the tv, asking him what he wants to watch. He murmurs that anything is fine and shifts on the couch to be more comfortable. I can tell by the tone of his voice that he doesn’t want to drop the previous subject, but he’s smart and knows not to push. I feel his eyes on me as I flip through the channels, but I can’t bring myself to look back at him. His eyes burn holes into my skin, and the searing pain makes me afraid to face him directly.  
  
“Bob’s burgers okay?” I ask, trying so desperately to get Marco’s focus off of me. It doesn’t work. When he responds, he’s still staring, still focused on finding something within me. I don’t know what he expects to find; all I know is that I don’t want him to find what he’s looking for. I squirm under the relentless pressure of his gaze. It feels like a thousand, no, _a million_ eyes are staring at me. I can’t take it.  
  
In a last-ditch attempt at getting him to focus on anything other than myself, I ask, “Why’d you do it, anyways?” I gather the strength to look at him. He draws his eyebrows together in confusion. “Do what?” he asks in return. I swallow thickly before daring to say, “You know, kiss me.” Marco’s eyes go wide.  
  
“Oh, uh. You don’t want to hear about _that._ ” He’s doing the same thing I was. He’s trying to run from my curiosity and hide himself from me. The difference between he and I, however, is that I won’t let him get away. I’m too desperate and selfish to do such a thing.  
  
“Marco, If I didn’t want to hear about it,” I start. “I wouldn’t have asked.” He rubs the back of his neck and chuckles nervously before replying. “Right…” He pauses, not too sure what to say. I don’t bother to fill the silence. I need to let him figure it out for a moment.  
  
“It’s um...It’s depressing anyway, probably not the answer you’re looking for.” I know he wants me to stop, but I can’t. The voices are egging me on, telling me to _push, push push. Don’t let him run. Get what you need and don’t look back._ I don’t know what it is I need, but if I want them to be quiet, I have to do this.  
  
“I’m not ‘looking for’ anything, it’s just a question. Answer it however you want.” _Too aggressive, too needy._ He doesn’t speak, only stares. _Those eyes. Make them look away. Make them rain down tears._ I shiver, trying to remain in control of my own mind. _Shut up, shut up, shut up. Don’t let him notice. Don’t talk back. He’ll know._  
  
“You don’t have to answer it at all if you don’t want to, of course,” I say quickly, trying to backpedal from what the monsters want. _You won’t win. I won’t let you._ “But I’d like to know,” I add. _Dammit. The monsters forced it out of me._ Marco’s answer surprises me.  
  
“No, no, it’s not that. I’m just...thinking,” he says, staring off into another time, another place. “Don’t think, just say what’s on your mind,” I encourage. _Or don’t. Don’t let them win, Marco. Please._  
  
“Okay, well, it all starts with...with me,” he begins hesitantly. I nod. “And, well, how I’m not exactly…” He chews on his lip. “I’m-I’m uh...I’m gay actually.” He flinches and then looks back at me, expecting me to explode at him for what he’s said. I just blink slowly and nod, silently praying for this moment to be over. I want to know, but if he tells me that means the monsters win. That means the monsters have power over me.  
  
An odd laugh bubbles up from his throat. “Wow, I’ve...I’ve never said that out loud before. Feels good.” He runs his hand through his hair. _Like a normal person. No tugging._ “Good,” I choke, trying my best to sound like monsters aren’t running rampant in my brain.  
  
He nods. “Yeah, but the thing is, I didn’t want anyone to know about it. I’ve known since I was a little kid, but I was so scared of what everyone would say and _what my parents would think_ and so I never said anything. I refused to even admit it to myself for the longest time. Every weekend I’d get some girl and bring her here and I’d try to prove to myself that it wasn't true. It couldn’t have been true. I tried so hard to convince myself that I was straight, but I only ended up hating myself more. I got so sick of myself and what I was doing and it just became a really lonely and scary life. I couldn’t do it anymore. So I got really drunk at that party, and I was so fed up with everything, and then I saw you, just some random guy by himself, and it just happened. I didn't even think about it. I just wanted to get over it, just to see what it was like, but I wasn’t thinking clearly, and it was a terrible thing to do. I guess I just thought that everything was already so messed up and that I had nothing to lose. I was in the wrong mindset and I made a terrible decision. I’m sorry.”  
  
His unexpected confession surprises me. I put on a calm facade and cringe at the terrible, ugly mask I wear. “Why’re you sorry? We’re friends now, right?” He shrugs. “Well, yeah, I guess.”  
  
“Then it’s no big deal,” I tell him, really meaning it.  
  
“But...friends don’t kiss other friends. Friends don’t _make out_ with other friends,” he retorts. I think carefully about my next response. _Break him,_ the voices say. _Make him cry. Make him regret telling you._  
  
_No, I can’t. He didn’t do anything to me._  
  
“That’s true, but you didn’t mean it that way. I know it, you know it, so quit beating yourself up over it. I don’t care, so you shouldn’t care either. Besides, you were drunk and scared, it _wasn’t real._ It doesn’t matter, and it’s in the past. So, I think we should strike up a deal that for the duration of this friendship, neither of us brings up the party ever again, as long as we both shall live. Agreed?” Marco sighs.  
  
“Agreed. I don’t even want to _think_ about that party ever again, let alone talk about it.” Despite the war raging in my mind, I smirk.  
  
“What party, Marco?” I ask with fake confusion.  
  
“Exactly,” he says, smiling as well. The monsters yell at me for not listening to them, but I force them down. They’re still there, but now they’re quieter.  
  
After this, conversation seems a little bit easier. It’s still slightly stinted and awkward, but now that we’ve gotten rid of one of the clouds hanging over our heads, it’s better. Brighter. As we watch tv, my fears subside and give way to a much friendlier feeling. The more episodes that pass by, the less planned our words become, and the more we start to laugh. And when Marco laughs, he _really laughs._ His laugh is infectious, and even when there’s a joke I don’t think is that funny, I laugh myself to tears because of him.  
  
Before, Marco was closed off and unavailable, and I think there’s a part of him that still is, but I’m doing the same thing. The voices keep telling me to hide, and although some of me wants to, I can’t find the effort to do it anymore.  
  
Don’t get me wrong, it’s still super awkward and weird, but it’s better. Now that we’ve talked about the kiss, there isn’t as much weighing us down. Before I know it, it’s really late and I have to get home. Marco walks me to the door and thanks me for the pizza.  
  
“You’re welcome here anytime, Jean,” he says, leaning against the doorframe. “Just use the door next time, would you?” I chuckle. “Of course, of course.” I walk out the door and turn back to Marco one last time. “Take care, dude.” Marco’s smile softens. “Yeah, I will. You too.” I nod and turn around, heading back to my car. I look up at the stars and ponder the turn of events.  
  
Things are really shitty right now, but I don’t think I want them to change. I have a lot of things to work out, but where there’s darkness, there’s always light, right? The monsters remind me that what I’m failing to think about is that in space, the stars take up so little room compared to the vast, black emptiness of the void. And if you consider it further, the small bursts of light are insignificant when put against the darkness that’ll inevitably swallow everything whole.  
  
I guess they might be right.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
